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SONGS    AND    POEMS 


OF     THE 

f    i\  I 


CLASS     OF 


Igfctaen   futndrd  and 


THIRD     EDITION. 


for  \\t  nst  of  t^e   Class  onlg. 


BOSTON: 

PRKNTISS  &   DELANO,  BOOK  AND  JOB  PRINTEBS, 

Ko.  40,  Congress  Street. 
1868. 


THE      CLASS 

GRADUATED     AT     HABVAED     COLLEGE,     1829. 

With  their  residences  in   1868. 

(See  Triennial  Catalogue.) 

*  JOSEPH  ANGIER Milton. 

*ELBRWGE    GERRY   AUSTIN 

*REUBEN   BATES 

\GEORGE    TYLER   BIGELOW Boston. 

»  WILLIAM  BRIGHAM Boston. 

*JOHN  PARKER   BULLARD 

WILLIAM  HENRY   CHANNING London,  Eng. 

JAMES   FREEMAN   CLARKE  . Jamaica  Plain. 

EDWIN   CONANT Worcester. 

*FREDERICK    WILLIAM   CROCKER 

•FRANCIS   BOARDMAN   CROWNINSHIELD  .    .    .  Boston. 

EDWARD   LINZEE   CUNNINGHAM Newport,  R.I. 

*  BENJAMIN   ROBBINS    CURTIS Boston. 

«  CURTIS    CUTLER Cambridge. 

«  GEORGE    THOMAS   DAVIS Portland,  Me. 

JONATHAN   THOMAS   DAVIS Concord. 

*  NATHANIEL   FOSTER   DERBY 

SAMUEL   ADAMS   DEVENS Charlestown. 

*  NICHOLAS   DEVEREUX 

*  GEORGE   HUMPHREY  DEVEREUX Salem. 

CHARLES  FAY St.  Albans,  Vt. 

*  WILLIAM  EMERSON   FOSTER 

FRANCIS   AUGUSTUS   FOXCROFT North  Cambridge. 

JOEL    GILES New  York. 

WILLIAM   GRAY Boston.  < 


CHARLES   LOWELL   HAXCOCK Chicago,  IU. 

OLlt'SR    WEXDELL    HOLMES Botton. 

•JOHX  HUBBARD 

•8OLOMOX  MARTI X  JEXKIXS 

•ALBERT  LOCKS    

•JOSIAU  QUIXCY  LORIXG 

SAMUEL   MAT Leiceiter. 

•HEXRY  BLAKE   McLELLAX 

•  HORA  TIO   COOK  ME  HI  AM Xortk  Tewktbury. 

"EDWARD  PATRICK  MILLIKEX CharUtlon.S.C. 

•ISAAC  EDWARD   MORSE 

BE.VJAMI.V  PEIRCE Cambridge. 

OEORGE    WILLIAM  PHILLIPS Botton. 

GEORGE    VTASHtXGTOX  RICllARDSOS  ....     Worcettor. 
•AXDREW   RITCHIE 

CffAXDLER   ROBBIXS Botton. 

•JAMES  DUTTOX  RUSSELL 

•HOWARD   SARGEXT Boston. 

SAMUEL    FRAXCIS   SMITH Nevto*  Centre. 

EDWARD   DEXTER   SOHIER Botton. 

CHARLES  STORER   STORROW /;,-/..„. 

JOH.V  JAMES    TA  TLOR Owego,   \     ) 

•GEORGE  AUGUSTUS    TAYLOR 

^  FRAXCIS    THOMAS Scltuaie. 

» JAMES    THURSTOX Wett  Xewton. 

•JOHX  ROGERS    THURSTOX 

SAMUEL   RIP  LEY   TOWXSEXD Taunton. 

•  JOSIAH  KEXDALL    WAITB LowtU. 

•JOSHUA   UOLYOKE    WARD 

•EZRA    WTESTOX 

JAMES  HUMPHREY    WILDER Botton. 

BEXJAMIX  POLLARD    WIXSLOW Wett  floxbury. 

•  WILLIAM    YOUXG     . 


Also,  —  in  full  membership : 

JAMES   SULLIVAN  AMORY Boston. 

GEORGE    GARDNER Boston. 

WILLIAM  MIXTER Hard  wick. 

MOSES   P ARSON'S   STtCKXEY Boston. 

THE  FOLLOWING  were  members  of  the  Class,  for  a  part  of  the  course: 

WILLIAM   PERKINS  APTHORP Quinoy. 

*DEXTER   BEMIS Spencer. 

*PARK    BENJAMIN Demerara,  S.  A. 

*  ANDREW   BIGELOW Worcester. 

*JOHN   BARNARD   BENIGNO   DAVENPORT  .    .    .  Natchitoches,  La. 

*  WILLIAM    HENRY"    ELLIS Boston. 

GEORGE   SMITH   FRENCH Boston. 

•*  ELLIS    GRAY    HALL Boston. 

•MARSHALL    SPRING   HAGAR Waltham. 

*  THOMAS    JOHNSON    HELLEN Washington,  D.  C. 

*  DANIEL   CLEAVES    KING Danvers. 

*  WASHINGTON   LAZARUS Wilmington,  N.C. 

*JOHN   SAMUEL   PRESCOTT Reading. 

*  WILLIAM   OLIVER   PRESCOTT Groton. 

*  BENJAMIN    MORGAN   SAUL New  Orleans,  La. 

*  JAMES   EDWARD   SHEAFE Portsmouth,  N.  ff. 

*  WILLIAM   WATSON   STURGIS Boston. 

*THEODORE   OXEN3RIDGE    THACHER       ....  Boston. 

*  WILLIAM    WOLCOTT    WADSWOHTH Geneseo,  N.  Y. 

vJOHN    WARREN  .  Boston. 


Cliu-$ag  Offirrn,  |nlg   I'l,   1829. 

GEORGE   II.    DEVEREUX      ..........  Orator. 

OLIVER   WENDELL    HOLMES      ........  Pott. 

JAMES   FRKEMAN   CLARKE   .........  Writer  qf  Song. 

JAMES   THURSTON   .............  Chaplain. 

WILLIAM   II.  CHANNING  > 

>    ..........     Murthalt. 

JAMES   D.   RUSSELL          ) 

v~n.     u  i  •xi.  .\  I  Prttident  <if 

EZRA    \\  ES       N  ..............     j  aatt 


DENJAMIX  R.  CURTIS  ^ 

ISAAC   E.    MORSE  >       ..........     Ylce-Pre»Ment». 

GEORGE  W.  PHILLIPS  ' 

EDWARD   D.   SOIIIER   .  .    Toait  Matter. 


Clas*  Dfficrr*, 

AS    ORIHIXAI.LY    CBO8EX. 

EDWARD   L.    CUNNINGHAM,  ^ 

WILLIAM    GRAY, 

Standing 

ALBERT    LOCKE,  >    ., 

Committ'f. 

HENRY    B.   McLELLAN, 
GEORGE   W.   PHILLIPS, 

SAMUEL   MAY Secretary. 


PRESENT    OFFICERS. 


Committee  of  tbc  Class. 

GEORGE    T.    BIGELOW. 
BENJAMIN  R.    CURTIS. 
WILLIAM    GRAY. 
GEORGE    WM.    PHILLIPS. 
GEORGE    W.    RICHARDSON. 


Class   Srtrttanj. 
SAMUEL    MAY. 

trustees  of   Class   J;unfr. 

GEORGE    T.    BIGELOW. 
FRANCIS    B.     CHOWNINSHIELD. 
WILLIAM    GRAY. 
GEORGE    W.    RICHARDSON. 


"  cfJuittf  tat  eit;  nnimum  nan  carmiiui  jacto." 


SONGS    AND    POEMS. 


A     SONG-    OF     "TWENTY-NINE." 


Written  for  the  Annual  Meeting,  1851. 

The  summer  dawn  is  breaking 
On  Auburn's  tangled  bowers, 
The  golden  light  is  waking 
On  Harvard's  ancient  towers ; 
The  sun  is  in  the  sky 
That  must  see  us  do  or  die, 
Ere  it  shine  on  the  line 
Of  the  CLASS  OF  '29. 

At  last  the  day  is  ended, 

The  tutor  screws  no  more, 
By  doubt  and  fear  attended 
Each  hovers  round  the  door, 
Till  the  good  old  Prseses  cries, 
While  the  tears  stand  in  his  eyes, 
"You  have  passed,  and  are  classed 
With  the  BOYS  OF  '29." 

Not  long  are  they  in  making 
The  college  halls  their  own, 

Instead  of  standing  shaking, 
Too  bashful  to  be  known; 


10  SONGS    AND    POEMS    OP 

But  they  kick  the  Seniors'  shins 
Ere  the  second  week  begins 
When  they  stray  in  the  way 
Of  the  BOYS  OF  '29. 

If  a  jolly  set  is  trolling 

The  last  Der  Freischutz  airs, 
Or  a  "cannon  bullet"  rolling 
Gomes  bouncing  down  the  stairs, 
The  tutors  looking  out, 
Sigh,  "Alas!  there  is  no  doubt, 
T  is  the  noise  of  the  Boys 
Of  the  CLASS  OP  10? 

Four  happy  years  together, 

By  storm  and  sunshine  tried, 
In  changing  wind  and  weather, 
They  rough  it  side  by  side. 

Till  they  hear  their  Mother  cry, 
"You  are  fledged,  and  you  must  fly," 
And  the  bell  tolls  the  knell 
Of  the  days  of  '29. 

Since  then  in  peace  or  trouble, 
Full  many  a  year  has  rolled, 
And  life  has  counted  double 
The  days  that  then  \\e  told; 
Yet  we  HI  end  as  we've  begun, 
For  though  scattered,  we  are  one, 
While  each  year  sees  us  here, 
Round  the  board  of 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  11 


Though  fate  may  throw  between  us 

The  mountains  or  the  sea; 
No  time  shall  ever  wean  us, 
No  distance  set  us  free; 
But  around  the  yearly  board, 
When  the  flaming  pledge  is  poured, 
It  shall  claim  every  name 
On  the  roll  of  '29. 

To  yonder  peaceful  ocean 

That  glows  with  sunset  fires, 
Shall  reach  the  warm  emotion 
This  welcome  day  inspires, 
Beyond  the  ridges  cold 
Where  a  brother  toils  for  gold, 
Till  it  shine  through  the  mine 
Round  the  BOY  OF  '29. 

If  one  whom  fate  has  broken 
Shall  lift  a  moistened  eye, 
We'll  say,  before  he's  spoken  — 
"  Old  Classmate,  don't  you  cry ! 
Here,  take  the  purse  I  hold, 
There's  a  tear  upon  the  gold  — 
It  was  mine  —  it  is  thine  — 
A'n't  we  BOYS  OP  '29?" 

As  nearer  still  and  nearer 

The  fatal  stars  appear, 
The  living  shall  be  dearer 

With  each  encircling  year, 


12  BONOS    AND    POEMS    OF 

Till  a  few  old  iwn  shall  gay 
"  Wo  remember  't  is  the  day  — 
Let  it  pass  with  a  glass 
For  the  CLASS  OF  '29." 

As  one  by  one  is  falling 

Beneath  the  leaves  or  snows, 
Each  memory  still  recalling 
The  broken  ring  shall  close, 
Till  the  nightwinds  softly  pass 
O'er  the  green  and  growing  grass, 
Where  it  waves  on  the  graves 
Of  the  BOYS  OP  '29 ! 

JAVCAKY  2,  1851.  O.  W.  II. 


QUESTIONS    AND    ANSWERS. 


For  the  CUM.  ISO. 

Where,  O  where  are  the  visions  of  morning, 
Fresh  as  the  dews  of  our  prime! 

Gone,  like  tenants  that  quit  without  warning. 
Down  the  back  entry  of  time. 

When-,  O  where  are  life's  lilies  and  mas, 
Nursed  in  the  golden  dawn's  sinil"  .' 

Dead  a*  the  bulrushes  round  liti! 
On  the  old  banks  of  tin-  Nile. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  13 


"Where  are  the  Marys,  and  Anns,  and  Elizas, 

Loving  and  lovely  of  yore? 
Look  in  the  columns  of  old  Advertisers, — 

Married  and  dead  by  the  score. 

Where  the  gray  colts  and  the  ten-year-old  fillies, 

Saturday's  triumph  and  joy? 
Gone,  like  our  friend  TioSu;  axv;  Achilles, 

Homer's  ferocious  old  boy. 

Die-away  dreams  of  ecstatic  emotion, 
Hopes  like  young  eagles  at  play, 

Vows  of  unheard  of  and  endless  devotion, 
How  ye  have  faded  away ! 

Yet,  though  the  ebbing  of  Time's  mighty  river 
Leave  our  young  blossoms  to  die, 

Let  him  roll  smooth  in  his  current  forever, 
Till  the  last  pebble  is  dry. 

o.  w.  H. 


14  80N08    AND    POEMS    OF 


LINES 

WriMMi  for  UM  CU«  MMttaff.  Xor.mb«r  S,  UBS. 

I  have  promised  to  give  them  some  verses  to-<lay. 

Shall  I  go  without  song!    Or,  myself,  stay  awayt 

Old  friendships  invite  me  most  strongly  to  go  — 

The  unfulfilled  promise  exhorts  to  say  —  No. 

The  song  I  would  choose  —  I  have  no  time  to  spin  it; 

A  work  for  such  ears  is  not  done  in  a  minute. 

You  gave  me  a  year,  but  I  left  till  this  week 

The  words  of  affection  and  love  I  would  speak ; 

The  year  was  so  long  I  delayed  and  delayed  it, 

Putting  off  the  song  when  I  should  rather  have  made  it, 

Because,  like  the  clergy  at  large,  I've  a  way 

Of  leaving,  till  wanted,  the  task  of  each  day. 

Necessity's  impulse  must  urge  me  along, 

But  when  'tis  most  needed  'tis  sometimes  too  strong. 

Have  you  written  the  song?  of  course  you  must  know  — 

I  cannot  say  "Yes" — I'm  ashamed  to  say  "No." 

I  have  brought  you  my  presence  —  't  was  all  I  could  do, 

Tin-  heart  of  a  student,  still  faithful  and  true 

To  the  friends  of  my  youth,  to  our  nourishing  mother, 

To  each  fellow  student  the  heart  of  a  brother. 

But  I  wonder  you  deem  the  Muse  ever  roams  — 

For  poem  and  ode  we  must  go  to  our  ll<i(l)m. •- : 

Still,  give  me  carte  llmclic  in  respect  to  tin-  day, 

And,  la  foi  tFun  fr&re,  I  promise  to  pay. 

8.  F.  s. 


((  THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  15 


A     SONG     OF     'LANG     SYNE.' 


Written  for  the  Annual  Meeting,  1853. 

When  autumn  blasts  sweep  o'er  the  fields, 

And  slanting  suns  decline, 
How  bright  the  hour  that  gathers  here 

The  Class  of  '29. 

How  fair  the  day  when  round  the  heart 
Old  friendships,  hallowed,  twine ; 

Blest  be  the  ties  that  join  in  love 
The  Class  of  '29. 

Now  College-days  come  back  afresh  — 

Secant,  and  curve,  and  sine, 
Logic,  and  Latin,  that  imbued 
The  Class  of  '29. 

Homer  and  Hesiod,  Paley,  Brown, 

Anacreon's  love  and  wine, 
And  modern  lore  that  came  t'  adorn 

The  Class  of  '29. 

Around  our  brows,  once  bright  with  youth, 
Now  age  hangs  out  its  sign; 

But  nobler  grows  the  fame  which  wreathes 
The  Class  of  '29. 


16  SONUS    AND    POEMS    OF 


Then  hand  to  huiul,  and  heart  to  heart, 

Like  Unit  hers,  still  combine, 
Till  not  a     name,  unstarred,  shall  mark 

The  Class  of  '29. 

S.  F.  S. 


AN    IMPROMPTU  — NOT    I'lJKMKlHTATEI). 


Written  for  the  CU«  Mrvtiaf.  Xovvnbrr  »,  USS. 

The  clock  has  stnick  noon ;   ere  it  thrice  call  the  hours, 
We  shall  meet  round  the  table  that  blushes  with  flowers, 
And  I  shall  blush  deeper,  with  shame-driven  blood, 
That  I  came  to  the  banquet,  and  brought  not  a  bud. 

Who  cares  that  my  verse  is  a  beggar  in  art, 
If  you  sec  through  her  rags  the  full  throb  of  her  heart  ? 
Who  axks  if  his  comrade  is  bettered  and  tanned, 
When  he  clasps  the  warm  soul  in  the  grasp  of  his  hundf 

No!  be  it  an  epic,  or  be  it  a  line, 

The  l>oys  will  all  love  it  because  it  is  mine; 

I  sung  their  la«t  song  on  the  nmrn  of  the  day 

That  tore  from  their  lives  the  last  blossom  of  May.  . 

It  is  not  the  sunset  that  glows  in  the  wine, 
But  the  smile  that  beams  over  it.  makes  it  divine;  — 
I  sprinkle  these  drops,  —  and  belmld  as  they  fall 
The  daystar  of  memory  shines  in  them  all! 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  17 


And  this  is  the  last;  they  are  drops  that  I  stole 
From  a  wine-press  that  crushes   the  life  from  the  soul ; 
But  they  ran  through  my  heart  and  they  sprang  to  my  brain, 
Till  our  twentieth  sweet  summer  was  shining  again ! 

o.  w.  H. 


NOS,    ET   ALMA    MATER   NOSTRA. 


Written  for  the  Twenty -fifth  Anniversary  of  the    Class,   and   sung  at  our  'Silver  Wedding,'  at 
Prof.  Peirce's,  Cambridge,  Commencement  Day,  1854. 

"  Welcome !  "     cries  our  Alma  Mater, 

"  Welcome  every  son  of  mine ! " 
But,  to-day,  with  special  favor 

Greets  she  us  of  'Twenty-nine.' 
Since  she  sent  us,  with  her  blessing, 

Forth,  to  reap  as  here  we'd  sown, 
Five  and  twenty  suns  have  circled, 

Bearing  us  their  '  silver  crown.' 

Now,  in  manhood's  strength  returning, 

Grateful  at  her  feet  we  bend; 
Day  by  day  have  we  been  learning 

Her  to  own  a  truthful  friend. 
Classmates !  pledge  we  then  the  Mother, 

Us  who  nurtured  years  Hang  syne,' 
Bound  us  each  to  each  a  brother, 

Heart  and  hand,  in  'Twenty-nine.' 


2* 


18  -       N  ',  -       \   N  !•      P"l    M  s     OK 


Scones  wo  know  in  life's  gay  morning, 

Now,  in  noon's  broad  light  we  view; 
Boyhood's  dreams  and  manhood's  warning 

Tinge  the  day  with  Mended  hue. 
Who  shall  wait  the  soher  evening, 

Who  shall  wear  the  'golden  en>wn,' 
Thanks  to  Him,  the  wise  All-Seeing, 

Not  by  us  may  this  he  known. 

Hand  in  hand,  as  gathering  gladly, 

Here  we  join  the  narrowing  ring, 
Heart  to  heart  rapoodeth  sadly, 

"In  nicnioriam  "  while  we  sing. 
One  by  one,  as  Time  sh:ill  sever 

Links  that  loop  the  golden  chain, 
Only  closer  clasjM'd  forever 

lie  the  bands  that  yet  remain ! 

By  the  joys  that  gild  the  Present, 

By  our  memories  of  the  Past, 
By  the  hopes  still  gleaming  pleasant 

O'er  life's  pathway  —  to  the  last  — 
Classmates!  pledge  we  one  another, 

Here  's  a  health  to  each  and  all ! 
Health  to  every  absent  brother! 

Us  AND  OURS!     God  bless  us  all! 

When  is  heard  the  same  fond  greeting, 

Half  a  century  sped  aw:iy, 
Hearts  that  then  may  \<-t   l»e  beating. 

Warm  as  ever,  still  shall  pray  — 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  19 


"Oh,  God  bless  thee,  Alma  Mater! 

Guide  and  guard  each  son  of  thine ! 
Still  bless  us  —  us  lingering  later, 

Us,  the  last  of  '  Twenty-nine ! ' " 


THE   DREAM. 


Written  for  the  Class  Meeting.  November,  1854. 

0 !  for  one  hour  of  youthful  joy ! 

Give  back  my  twentieth  spring ! 
I  'd  rather  laugh,  a  bright-haired  boy, 

Than  reign,  a  gray-beard  king. 

Off  with  the  spoils  of  wrinkled  age ! 

Away  with  Learning's  crown ! 
Tear  out  life's  "Wisdom-written  page, 

And  dash  its  trophies  down ! 

One  moment  let  my  life-blood  stream 
From  boyhood's  fount  of  flame ! 

Give  me  one  giddy,  reeling  dream 
Of  life  all  love  and  fame ! 


My  listening  angel  heard  the  prayer, 
And,  calmly  smiling,  said 

"  If  I  but  touch  thy  silvered  hair 
Thy  hasty  wish  hath  sped. 


j.  H.  w. 


M  SONGS    AND    POEMS    OP 

But  is  there  nothing  in  thy  track, 

To  hid  thee  fondly  stay, 
While  the  swift  seasons  hurry  back 

To  find  the  wished  for  day  f 

Ah,  truest  soul  of  womankind ! 

Without  thee  what  were  lif«? 
One  bliss  I  cannot  leave  behind: 

I  '11  take  —  my  —  precious  —  wife ! 

—  The  angel  took  a  sapphire  pen 
And  wrote  in  rainlmw  dew 

"The  man  would  be  a  ln»y  again, 
And  be  a  husband  too! 

And  is  there  nothing  yet  unsaid, 
Before  the  change  appears? 

Remember,  all  their  gifts  have  fled 
With  those  dissolving  years." 

"Why  yes;"  for  memory  would  recall 

My  fond  paternal  joys; 
"  I  could  not  Ix'ar  to  leave  them  all  — 

I  '11  take  —  my  —  girl  —  and  — 1>"\ 

The  smiling  angel  dropped  his  pen  — 
"Why  this  will  never  do; 

The  man  would  IK-  a  l»oy  again, 
And  be  a  father  too!" 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  21 


And  so  I  laughed  —  my  laughter  woke 

The  household  with  its  noise, 
And  wrote  my  dream,  when  morning  broke, 

To  please  the  gray-haired  boys. 

Nov.  25,  1854.  O.  W.  H. 


SONG. 


Written  for  Ihe  Class  Meeting,  January  10,  1856. 

And  what  shall  be  the  song  to-night, 

If  song  there  needs  must  be? 
If  every  year  that  brings  us  here 

Must  steal  an  hour  from  me? 
Say,  shall  it  ring  a  merry  peal, 

Or  heave  a  mourning  sigh 
O'er  shadows  cast,  by  years  long  past, 

On  moments  flitting  by  f 

Nay,  take  the  first  unbidden  line 

The  idle  hour  may  send, 
No  studied  grace  can  mend  the  face 

That  smiles  as  friend  on  friend ; 
The  balsam  oozes  from  the  pine, 

The  sweetness  from  the  rose, 
And  so,  unsought,  a  kindly  thought 

Finds  language  as  it  flows. 


SONGS    AND    POEMS    OF 


The  years  rush  by  in  Hounding  flight, 

I  hoar  their  ceaseless  wings; 
Their  songs  I  hear,  some  far,  some  near, 

And  thus  the  burden  rings: 
"The  morn  has  fled,  the  noon  has  past, 

The  sun  will  soon  be  set, 
The  twilight  fade  to  midnight  shade; 

llememtar  —  and  Forget ! " 

Remember  all  that  time  has  brought  — 

The  starry  hope  on  high, 
The  strength  attained,  the  courage  gained, 

The  love  that  cannot  die. 
Forget  the  bitter,  brooding  thought, — 

The  word  too  harshly  said, 
The  living  blame  love  hates  to  name, 

The  frailties  of  the  dead ! 

We  have  been  younger,  so  they  say, 

But  let  the  seasons  roll, 
He  doth  not  lack  an  almanac, 

Whose  youth  is  in  his  soul. 
The  snows  may  clog  life's  iron  track, 

But  does  the  axle  tire, 
While  (tearing  swift  through  bank  and  drift 

The  engine's  heart  of  fire? 

I  lift  a  goblet  in  my  hand; 

If  good  old  wine  it  hold, 
An  ancient  skin  to  keep  it  in, 

Is  just  the  thing,  we  're  tol«l. 


THECLASSOF'29.  23 


We're  grayer  than  the  dusty  flask, — 

We're  older  than  our  wine; 
Our  corks  reveal  the  "white  top"  seal, 

The  stamp  of  '29. 

Ah,  Boys !  we  clustered  in  the  dawn, 

To  sever  in  the  dark; 
A  merry  crew,  with  loud  halloo, 

We  climbed  our  painted  bark ; 
We  sailed  her  through  the  four  years'  cruise, 

We'll  sail  her  to  the  last, 
Our  dear  old  flag,  though  but  a  rag, 

Still  flying  on  her  mast. 

So  gliding  on,  each  winter's  gale 

Shall  pipe  us  all  on  deck, 
Till  faint  and  few,  the  gathering  crew 

Creep  o'er  the  parting  wreck, 
Her  sails  and  streamers  spread  aloft 

To  fortune's  rain  or  shine, 
Till  storm  or  sun  shall  all  be  one, 

And  down  goes  TWENTY-NINE  ! 

o.  w.  H. 


-I  SONUS    AND    POEMS    OF 


A     POEM. 


Written  for  Ib.  CUM  MMtinc,  Sor.ml«r,  I8M. 

You'll  Mieve  me,  dear  boys,  'tis  a  pleasure  to  rise, 
With  a  welcome  like  this  in  your  darling  old  eyes; 
To  meet  the  same  smiles  and  to  hear  the  same  tone, 
Which  have  greeted  me  oft  hi  the  years  that  have  flown. 

Were  I  gray  as  the  grayest  old  rat  in  the  wall, 
My  locks  would  turn  brown  at  the  sight  of  you  all ; 
If  my  heart  were  as  dry  as  the  shell  on  the  sand, 
It  would  till  like  the  goblet  I  hold  in  my  hand. 

There  are  noontides  of  autumn  when  summer  returns, 
Tho*  the  leaves  are  all  garnered  and  scaled  in  their  urns, 
And  the  bird  on  his  perch  that  was  silent  so  lonjr, 
Believes  the  sweet  sunshine  and  breaks  into  song. 

We  have  caged  the  young  birds  of  our  beautiful  June: 
Their  plumes  are  still  bright  and  their  voices  in  tune; 
One  moment  of  sunshine  from  faces  like  these 
And  they  sing  as  they  sung  in  the  green-growing  t 

The  voices  of  morning !    how  sweet  is  tlicir  thrill 
When  the  shadows  have   turned,  and  I  lie  c  veiling  grows 

still ! 

The  text  of  our  lives  may  get  wiser  with  age, 
But  the  print  was  so  fair  on  its  twentieth  page! 


THECLASSOF'29.  25 


Look  off  from  your  goblet  and  up  from  your  plate ; 
Come,  take  the  last  journal,  and  glance  at  its  date : 
Then  think  what  we  fellows  should  say  and  should  do, 
If  the  6  were  a  9  and  the  5  were  a  2. 

Ah,  no !  for  the  shapes  that  would  meet  with  us  here, 
From  the  far  land  of  shadows,  are  ever  too  dear! 
Though  youth  flung  around  us  its  pride  and  its  charms, 
We  should  see  but  the  comrades  we  clasped  in  our  arms. 

A  health  to  our  future  —  a  sigh  for  our  past, 
We  love,  we  remember,  we  hope  to  the  last; 
And  for  all  the  base  lies  that  the  almanacs  hold, 
While  we  've  youth  in  our  hearts  we  can  never  gro\\  old ! 

NOVEMBER  6,  1856.  O.  W.  H. 


MARE     RUBRUM. 


Written  for  the  Annual  Meeting  of  the  Class,  1858. 

Flash  out  a  stream  of  blood-red  wine, 

For  I  would  drink  to  other  ,days, 
And  brighter  shall  their  memory  shine, 

Seen  flaming  through  its  crimson  blaze ! 
The  roses  die,  the  summers  fade, 

But  every  ghost  of  boyhood's  dream 
By  nature's  magic  power  is  laid 

To  sleep  beneath  this  blood-red  stream ! 


M  80NOS    AND    POKMS    OK 


It  filled  the  purple  grapes  that  lay, 

And  drank  the  splendors  of  the  sun, 
When»  the  long  summer's  cloudless  day 

Is  mirrored  in  the  broad  Garonne; 
It  pictures  still  the  bacchant  sha]>cs 

That  saw  their  hoarded  sunlight  shed, — 
The  maidens  dancing  on  the  grab's,  — 

Their  milk-white  ancles  splashed  with  red. 

Beneath  these  waves  of  crimson  lie, 

In  rosy  fetters  prisoned  fast, 
Those  flitting  shapes  that  never  die, — 

The  swift-winged  visions  of  the  past. 
Kiss  but  the  crystal's  mystic  rim 

Each  shadow  rends  it«  flower}'  chain, 
•Springs  in  a  bubble  from  it«  brim 

And  walks  the  chambers  of  the  brain. 

Poor  beauty !  Time  and  fortune's  wrong 

No  shajM'  nor  feature  may  withstand ; 
Thy  wrecks  are  scattered  all  along, 

Like  emptied  sea-shells  on  the  sand  ; 
Yet,  sprinkled  with  this  blushing  rain, 

The  dust  restores  each  blooming  .girl, 
As  if  the  sea-shells  moved  again 

Their  glistening  lips  of  pink  and  pearl. 

Here  lies  the  home  of  school-hoy  life. 

With  creaking  stair  and  wind-swept  hall, 
And,  warred  by   many  a  truant   knife. 

Our  old  initials  on  the  wall; 


THECLASSOF'29.  27 


Here  rest,  their  keen  vibrations  mute, 
The  shout  of  voices  known  so  well, 

The  ringing  laugh,  the  wailing  flute, 
The  chiding  of  the  sharp-tongued  bell. 

Here,  clad  in  burning  robes,  are  laid 

Life's  blossomed  joys,  untimely  shed, 
And  here  those  cherished  forms  have  strayed 

We  miss  awhile,  and  call  them  dead. 
What  wizard  fills  the  wrondrous  glass  ? 

What  soil  the  enchanted  clusters  grew? 
That  buried  passions  wake  and  pass 

In  beaded  drops  of  fiery  dew! 

Nay !  take  the  cup  of  blood-red  wine,  — 

Our  hearts  can  boast  a  warmer  glow, 
Filled  from  a  vintage  more  divine, 

Calmed,  but  not  chilled,  by  winter's  snow ! 
To-night  .the  palest  wave  we  sip 

Rich  as  the  priceless  draught  shall  be 
That  wet  the  bride  of  Cana's  lip, — 

The  wedding  wine  of  Galilee ! 
JANUARY  14,  1858.  O.  W.  H. 


-x  SONUS    AND    POKM8    OF 


P  O  K  M  . 


Mrillrn  f..r  ib«  CUM  MMtlnf,  Jnouarr  II.  I/O! 

Til  E  MOLE.  — 


As  I  wound  my  way  in  the  ground, 

A  nice  little  rootlet  I  found; 

I  followed  it  curiously, 

Till  it  joined  the  trunk  of  the:  tree. 

There  other  rootlets  collected, 
From  all  roots  with  care  selected, 
Joined  and  soared,  so  my  neighbors  say, 
A  grand  tree-stalk  in  air  and  day. 

THE  COLLEGE  GOODY.  —  (  Loquitur.  J 

At  the  College  door  I  stand, 
My  broom  and  pail  in  my  IKUM!, 
It  '«  the  year  of  grace  '25, 
And  there  come,  as  I  'in  alive, 
Some  white-headed,  Mack-headed  l>oyg, 
(Here  and  then-  a  red  one  for  choice,) 
And  I  think,  as  I  see  them  pa--. 
Here  comet  h  the  Freshman  Class. 

A  ROBIX  RED-BREAST.     f/,o////;//«-  ., 

Ily  my  faith,  this  tree's  tall  and  \vide. 
Hearing  cherries,   ripe  on  each  side; 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  29 


This  branch  grows  straight  in  the  air, 
These  sideways,  these  others  nowhere; 
But  all  these  brother  branches  are  good 
For  leaves,  branches,  cherries,  and  wood. 

DR.  NOTES  AND  DR.  HEDGE.  —  (Loquuntnr.) 

Dr.  Noycs  — 

My  class  is  a  fine  one,  Sir, 
Some  day  they  will  make  a  stir, 
There's  Crocker,  —  a  capital  Greek; 
There's  Storrow  will  work  by  the  week, 
Then  there's  others,  of  whom  I  wont  speak. 

Dr.  Hedge  — 

No !  I  think  you  \1  better  keep  quiet, 
For  some  are  bad  boys  at  a  riot, 
There  's  Winslow  —  his  logic  is  slim, 
And  Richardson  —  what  of  him  ? 

THE  OWL.  —  ( Philosophises. ) 

I've  bothered  my  brains  to  see, 

The  typical  truth  of  this  tree, 

Its  essence  and  unity. 

First,  a  number  of  rootlets  fine, 

Then,  these  in  one  trunk  combine, 

Then,  into  branches  divide; 

Yet  these  branches  still  keep  side  by  side. 


30  S..N,;S     A  M>     I'oi:  M>     el' 


TUB  OWL'S  WIFE.  —  (Uespontls.) 

The  tree  is  a  type,  my  dear, 

Of  the  CMass  which  assembles  this  year 

In  the  house  'yclept    The  Itercrc. 

Like  roots  they  together  met, 

In  the  trunk  which  holds  them  yet. 

They  soared  into  air  together, 

Took  wind  and  sun,  rain  and  fair  weather; 

But  though  each  may  his  own  way  go, 

Together  they  join  below  — 

Held  fast  to  each  other  yet 

By  scenes  they  will  never  forget; 

Scenes  which  moulded  each  youthful  breast, 

Like  the  seal  on  soft  wax  impressed. 

POET.  —  (Concludes.) 

We  met,  we  parted,  but  still 

Cling  together  for  good  and  ill. 

Divided  in  thought,  and  life, 

Each  joins  in  the  world's  great  strife. 

But  one  day  in  each  changing  year, 

Shall  see  us  assembled  here; 

Forgetting  for  one  brief  hour. 

Our  struggles  for  fame,  and  power. 

In  the  old  familiar  f.icrs. 

Each  classmate  the  past   retrace-. 

And  joys  to  forget  ull  strife. 

All  difference  in  thought  and  life;  — 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  31 


To  go  to  his  boyhood  again, 

To  leave  the  labor  of  men, 

And  toast,  with  water  and  wine, 

The  GRAND  CLASS  OF  TWENTY-NINE. 

j.  F.  c. 


THE     BOYS. 


Written  for  the  Class  Meeting,  January  6,  1859. 

Has  there  any  old  fellow  got  mixed  with  the  boys? 
If  there  has,  take  him  out,  without  making  a  noise. 
Hang  the  Almanac's  cheat  and  the  Catalogue's  spite ! 
Old  time  is  a  liar !    We  're  twenty  to-night ! 

We  're  twenty !  We  're  twenty !   Who  says  we  are  more  ? 
He's  tipsy,  —  young  jackanapes!  —  show  him  the  door! 
"Gray  temples  at  twenty?"  —  Yes!  tchite  if  we  please; 
Where  the  snow-flakes  fall  thickest  there's  nothing  can 
freeze ! 

Was  it  snowing  I  spoke  off    Excuse  the  mistake! 
Look  close,  —  you  will  see  not  a  sign  of  a  flake ! 
We  want  some  new  garlands  for  those  we  have  shed, — 
And  these  are  white  roses  in  place  of  the  red. 

We  've  a  trick,  we  young  fellows,  you  may  have  been  told, 
Of  talking  (in  public)  as  if  we  were  old :  — 
That  boy  we  call  "  Doctor,"  and  this  we  call  "  Judge ; " 
It' s  a  neat  little  fiction,  —  of  course  it 's  all  fudge. 


32  SONGS    AND    POEMS    OF 

That  fellow 's  the  ••  Speaker," —  the  one  on  the  right ; 
"Mr.  Mayor,"  my  young  one,  how  are  you  to-night? 
That 's  our  "  Member  of  Congress,"  we  say  when  we  chaff; 
There's    the    "Kevercnd"    What's    his   name?  —  don't 
make  me  laugh. 

That  IMIV  with  the  grave  mathematical  look 

Made  U-lieve  he  had  written  a  wonderful  hook, 

And  the  ROYAL  SOCIETY  thought  it  was  true! 

So  they  chose  him  right  in ;    a  good  joke  it  was,  too ! 

There's  a  boy,  we  pretend,  with  a  three-decker  brain, 
That  could  harness  a  team  with  a  logical  chain; 
When  he  spoke  for  our  manhood  in  syllabled  fire, 
We   called   him    "The   Justice,"   but   now   he's   "The 
Squire." 

And  there 's  a  nice  youngster  of  excellent  pith,  — 
Fate  tried  to  conceal  him  by  naming  him  Smith: 
But  he  shouted  a  song  for  the  brave  and  the  free, — 
Just  read  on  his  menial,  "  My  country,"  "  of  thee ! " 

You  hear  that  boy  laughing?  —  You   think  he's  all  fun; 
But  the  angels  laugh,  too,  at  the  good  he  has  il»in  : 
The  children  laugh  loud  as  they  troop  to  his  call. 
And  the  poor  man  that  knows  him  laughs  loudest  of  all ! 

Yes,  we're  boys,  —  always  playing  with  tongue  or  with 

pen,— 
And  I  sometimes  have  asked,  —  Shall  we  ever  he  men!     , 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  33 


Shall  we  always  be  youthful,  and  laughing,  and  gay, 
Till  the  last  dear  companion  drops  smiling  away? 

Then  here 's  to  our  boyhood,  its  gold  and  its  gray ! 
The  stars  of  its  winter,  the  dews  of  its  May ! 
And  when  we  have  done  with  our  life-lasting  toys, 
Dear  Father,  take  care  of  thy  children,  THE   BOYS  ! 

o.  w.  H. 


THE     RETROSPECT. 


Written  for  the  Meeting  of  the  Class,  January,  1859. 

Air,  —  "  Araby's  Daughter." 

Though  cast  are  our  burdens  of  care  to  the  morrow, 
And  brothers  and  classmates  have  met  once  again, 

The  iris-hued  tissue  is  shaded  with  sorrow, 
The  chorus  of  joy  has  a  minor  of  pain. 

'T  is  fit  that  rejoicing  be  chastened  by  sadness, 
Remembering  those  who  have  passed  on  before, 

Whose    warm    clasp    of   friendship,    and    bright   looks    of 

gladness, 
In  these  our  re-unions,  shall  mingle  no  more. 

Though  lost  in  the  distance  those  glittering  fountains, 
Whose  green  sunny  banks  we  can  never  re-tread, 

Though  frown  darkly  round  us  life's  bare  rugged  mountains, 
And  the  far-stretching  torrid  plain  covers  our  dead ; 


34  80NG8    AND    POEMS    OP 

May  the  years  ami  the  graves  that  are  lying  behind  us 
Exorcise  the  demons  of  self  and  of  pride; 

Dear  thoughts  of  the  past  and  a  common  hojw  hind  us 
Still  eloser  to  those  who  remain  at  our  side. 

Be  that  Divine  Love  which  surrounds  and  enfolds  us 
Our  shield  from  the  evil,  our  strength  for  the  right ; 

And  we,  when  the  prison  is  broken  that  holds  us, 
Be  evermore  brothers  in  mansions  of  light. 

O  dear  Alma  Mater,  so  often  forgiving 

Thy  wild,  wayward  children,  may  no  blush  of  shame 
Be  thine  for  thy  "offspring,  but  may  we,  while  living, 

Emblazon  thy  glory  and  cherish  thy  fame. 

Nor  will  we,  O  revered  of  thy  sons,  e'er  forget  thee 
Till  life  from  its  death-stricken  casket  departs, 

Entwined  with  our  fondest  affections  we'll  set  thee, 
While  throbs  in  our  bosoms  one  pulse  of  our  hearts. 

B.  p.  w. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  35 


THE     PROSPECT. 


Written  for  the  Meeting  of  the  Class,  January,  1859. 

Air, — "Aukl  Lang  Syne. 

Close  up  !     Close  up  !     That  trumpet  call, 

Where  iron  hailstones  pour, 
Where  thick  and  fast  the  warriors  fall, 

Rings  through  the  battle's  roar. 

Close  up !     In  this  fierce  war  of  life, 

Shall  not  our  little  band, 
Calm  and  resolved  amid  the  strife, 

Shoulder  to  shoulder  stand! 

Who  will  not,  for  the  good  and  right  — 

His  brothers  by  his  side  — 
With  earth's  true  heroes  stem  the  fight, 

Or  fall  as  martyrs  died? 

Lo !   fast  they  drop,  the  wise,  the  good, 

Whole  ranks  are  down  in  front, 
Up,  with  a  holy  hardihood, 

And  meet  the  battle's  brunt. 

Though  we  have  slumbered  at  our  posts, 

Away  all  vain  regret; 
Close  up !     Invoke  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 

And  we  shall  conquer  yet. 


36  SONUS    AND    POEMS    OF 


When  comes  the  truce,  and  for  a  while 
The  deafening  thunders  cease, 

The  hearty  grasp,  the  kindly  smile, 
Shall  greet  our  brief  release. 

And  so,  we,  spared  to  gather  here, 

And  pledge  the  social  cup, 
While  to  our  lost  we  give  a  tear, 

Will  eheerly  yet  elose  up. 


B.  P.  w. 


IN     MKMOK1AM. 


Written  tar  tb«  Clu*  M«Un».  J.nu,ry  6,  IMX 

The  friendships  we  fonned  when  life  was  still  young, 
The  sport*  that  we  joined  in,  the  songs  we  then  sung, 
How  oft  from  the  chambers  of  memory  they  well. 
Like  the  echo  of  waves  in  the  beautiful  shell. 

The  griefs  we  have  met  on  the  pathway  of  life. 
The  conquests  won  bravely  amid  tin-  stern  strife; 
The  light  and  the  shadow,  the  joy  and  the  wo, 
Form,  like  sun-whine  and  rain-drop,  the  radiant  bow  — 
That  reste  on  the  brow  of  the  storms  that  are  o'er, 
That  lights  up  the  wave  where  it  breaks  mi  the  sliore  : 
That  fades  like  the  fair  hues  of  hopes  that  are  riven, 

* 

But  sails,  as  it  fades,  through  the  blue  arch  of  heaven. 


THECLASSOF'29.  37 


The  garlands  we  wove  on  the  foretop  of  time, 

Though  robbed  of  the  freshness  they  wore  in  our  prime ; 

The  castles  we  built,  so  lofty  and  fair, 

Though  crumbled  to  dust,  or  vanished  in  air; 

The  barques  we  once  freighted  with  hearts  beating  high, 

And  launched  on  the  sea  without  tremor  or  sigh, 

Though  sunk  in  the  ocean,  or  dashed  on  the  reef, 

The  more  grand  their  career,  the  more  sad  and  more  brief; 

Though  the  plants  we  have  loved  to  the  angels  are  given, 

Having  climbed  o'er  the  wall  and  are  blooming  in  heaven ; 

Still  this  chain  of  our  love  does  not  tarnish  with  years, 

Nor  wear  with  the  friction  of  toil  and  of  tears ; 

Nor  crumble  in  dust,  nor  vanish  like  breath, 

Nor  chill  with  the  darkness  and  shadow  of  death; 

Nor  perish  in  shipwreck,  nor  waste  in  the  tomb, — 

A  thing  to  be  lost  in  earth's  gathering  gloom; 

Though  time's  jealous  fingers  make  all  things  decay, 

We  brighten  its  links  as  the  yeai-s  pass  away; 

We  fastened  the  lock  in  our  youth  and  our  glee, 

Then  wandered  abroad  and  have  lost  the  sole  key ; 

The  heart-clasp  unites  so  firmly  the  chain, 

That  'tis  welded  by  time  and  must  ever  remain. 

s.  F.  s. 


38  SONGS    AND    POEMS    OF 


OUR    BROTHERHOOD. 


Wrtttm  for  ItM  CU*.  Mewling,  J«o««ry  6,  1898. 

Why  gather  wo  here  with  zest  so  keen, 

Forsaking  fireside-  joys? 
Why  blooms  with  flowers  this  gladsome  scene? 

What  mean  these  table  toys? 
Old  Time,  to-night,  we  'd  put  to  flight, 

And  once  again  be  boys! 

To  meet  around  the  social  board, 

To  laugh  and  chat  a  while, 
And,  intervening  years  ignored, 

At  frosty  Age  to  smile; 
To  sing  the  songs  of  other  days, 

To  hear  each  much-loved  voice  — 
In  this  delight,  once  more  to-night, 

We  gratefully  rejoice. 

Nor  this  alone  —  there  is  another, 

To  crotcn  our  festive  cheer; 
It  is  —  to  name  each  one  a  brother, 

Who  comes  to  inert  us  ln-re : 

To  know  we're  close  in  one  firm  clasp. 

Howe'er  by  fate  apart; 
And,  as  each  separate  hand  we  grasp, 

To  feel  but  one  great  heart! 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  •  39 


Assured  we've  come,  as  children,  home, 
Sons,  all,  of  one  dear  mother; 

Eager  to  know  the  weal  or  woe 
Of  each  beloved  brother. 

Though  ocean  waves  bear  far  away 

One  dear  to  every  other, — 
Where'er  he  stray,  for  him  to  pray 

"  God  speed  thee,  oh  my  brother ! " 

Diverse  although  our  fortunes  flow, 

To  glory  in  each  other ! 
When  honors  wreathe  a  classmates  brow, 

To  say  "Ah !  he  's  my  brother  ! " 

Or,  if  hard  luck  has  been  the  lot 

Of  one  or  of  another, 
Old  ties,  old  times,  not  yet  forgot, 

To  think  "  He 's  still  my  brother ! " 

Should  ever  stain  bedim  a  name 
Whose  promise  had  been  other, 

To  neither  shrink,  nor  shirk  the  shame, 
But  own  "  He  is  my  brother ! " 

Whatever  he  be  —  or  high  or  low, 

Minus  his  sign,  or  plus  — 
Alpha,  Omega  —  enough  to  know 

He  was  —  he  is  —  of  us  ! 


40  ION"*     A  N  I.     1-oK  M  s     OF 


Ah !  this,  dear  friends,  this  is  tho  charm 
That  hallows  all  our  greetings, 

And  such  the  thoughts  that  sweetly  swarm 
At  these  fraternal  meetings. 

Oh !  cherish,  then,  till  time  shall  close 

Their  dearly-prized  returns, 
The  love  that  only  wanner  grows, 

The  longer  that  it  burns! 


j.  H.  w. 


A    TOAST. 


Propowd  it  (he  CUM  Moling.  January,  1M9. 

The  Autocrat's  J/V/.sr — 

Like  the  good  widow's  cruise, 
The  more  it  flows  out,  the  fuller  it  grows! 

The  more,  then,  we  drink, 

The  less  reason  to  think 
It  ever  will  come  to  a  close! 

What  promise  is  this. 

How  brimming  with  bliss, 
To  charm  us  as  none  but  our  poet  is  able : 

Then,  brothers,  pledge  here 

A  health  and  good  cheer 
To  the  pride  and  delight  of  tun-  Dinner  Table. 

J.  H. 


THECLASSOF'29.  41 


LINES. 


Written  for  the  Class  Meeting,  18CO. 

I'm  ashamed,  —  that's  the  fact,  —  it's  a  pitiful  case, — 
Won 't  any  kind  classmate  get  up  in  my  place  ? 
Just  remember  how  often  I've  risen  before, — 
I  blush  as  I  straighten  my  legs  on  the  floor ! 

There  are  stories,  once  pleasing,  too  many  times  told, — 
There  are  beauties  once  charming,  too  fearfully  old, — 
There  are  voices  we've  heard  till  we  know  them  so  well, 
Though  they  talked  for  an  hour  they  'd  have  nothing  to  tell. 

Yet,  Classmates !  Friends!  Brothers!  dear  blessed  old  boys ! 
Made  one  by  a  life-time  of  sorrows  and  joys, 
What  lips  have  such  sounds  as  the  poorest  of  these, 
Though  honeyed,  like  Plato's,  by  musical  bees? 

What  voice  is  so  sweet  and  what  greeting  so  dear 
As  the  simple,  warm  welcome  that  waits  for  us  here? 
The  love  of  our  boyhood  still  breathes  in  its  tone, 
And  our  hearts  throb  the  answer  "  He 's  one  of  our  own  ! " 

Nay !  count  not  our  numbers ;   some  sixty  we  know, 
But  these  are  above,  and  those  under  the  snow; 
And  thoughts  are  still  mingled  wherever  we  meet 
For  those  we  remember  with  those  that  we  greet. 

L, J8 

4* 


!•-'  BONUS    AMD    POEMS    OF 


We  have  rolled  on  life's  journey, — how  fust  ami  how  far! 
One  round  of  humanity*!*  many-wheeled  ear, 
But  up-hill  ami  down-hill,  through  rattle  and  nib, 
Old,  true  Twenty-niners !  we've  stuck  to  our  huh! 

While  a  brain  lives  to  think,  or  a  bosom  to  feel, 
We  will  cling  to  it  still  like  the  spokes  of  a  wheel! 
And  age,  as  it  chills  us,  shall  fasten  the  tire 
That  youth  fitted  round  in  his  circle  of  fire ! 

JAXCARY  5,  1860.  O.  W.  II. 


REMINISCENCES. 


Written  for  the  CUM  Mretlng,  January  4,  1800. 

What  class  of  all  old  Harvard's  classes, 
The  "Class  of  Twenty-nine"  surpasses, 
Albeit  some  wen-  reckoned  asses 

lly  Tutor  N-y-s, 
When  he  and  others  with  dire  inal 
The  old  Professors  and  their  allies. 
Within   the    Presidential   palaee. 

On  our  poor  boys, 

(Who  now  and  then  of  cloudy  mornings. 
Despite  repeated  threats  and  warnings, 
Forgot  the  bell  at  early  dawnir 

Vented  their  ire. 


THECLASSOF'29.  43 


And  in  the  shape  of  admonitions 
Public  and  private,  hard  conditions, — 
And  all  regardless  of  petitions 

Thrown  in  the  fire, — 

Arranged  and  classed  us  into  sections, 
And  by  their  whimsical  directions 
Transformed  our  classical  affections 

To  bitter  hate;  — 

And  thus  aroused  by  what  we  reckon'd 
A  deep  injustice  —  vengeance  beckon'd 
Our  young  minds  thoroughly  to  second 

Deeds  desperate ! 

Which  to  revenge,  the  squad  of  tutors, 
For  college  favors  who  were  suitors, 
"With  proctors  and  their  co-adjutors, 
About  our  mugs 

Showered  governmental  invitations, 
And  made  such  hostile  intimations, 
That  we  were  in  quite  cool  relations 
With  the  big  bugs. 

And  chief  among  our  youthful  follies, 
Were  bonfires  round  the  pumps  of  Hollis, 
Salvos,  salutes,  and  rattling  vollies 

Of  cannon  balls, 

Which  down  stairs  rolling  make  such  clatter, 
Each  tutor's  teeth  are  fain  to  chatter, 
And  seeking  to  find  out  the  matter, 

The  proctor  calls. 


II  -•  \  .,  >     A  M>     I'., I    Ms 


And  once  it  happen'd  Tutor  Ot-s, 
(With  very  little  previous  notice,) 
Found  in  his  room,  as  the  report  is, 

A  horrid  smell ;  — 
Like  onion  j>erfume  concentrated, 
With  fragrant  brimstone  triturated, 
And  which  for  weeks  had  not  abated 

Its  odor  fell. 

And  who's  forgot  the  Greek  Majoras 

And  Dr.  P-pk-n,  when,  before  us, 

On  ponies  mounted,  like  "rude  Boreas," 

Some  dodg'd  a  screw, 
He  made  in  tones  of  shrewd  suspicion 
To  those  bold  riders  his  decision, 
That  those  same  books  in  private  session 
He  wished  to  view. 

Yet  from  that  tomb  of  interliners, 
That  stood  hard  by  Hoi  worthy  minors, 
Xo  tears,  no  prayers,  no  golden  shiners 

Could  ever  draw 

One  forfeit  book  from  his  possession. 
When  *inc<-  tin-  convict   made  confrs>ion. 
That,  in  his  wish  for  quick  progression. 

II-  M  lirokc  the  law. 

Who  can  forget  the  saintly  unction, 
And  pious  fervor  in  conjunction, 
Wherewith  old  Prex  his  solemn  function, 
At  morning  prayers, 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  45 


Discharged  with  such  serene  composure 
To  those  who  brav'd  the  great  exposure 
Of  crossing  o'er  the  yard's  enclosure, 

Up  those  stone  stairs;  — 

And  then  ascending  one  more  story, 

Lo !   Dr.  H.  in  all  his  glory, 

Sat  in  his  arm-chair  right  before  ye, 

Logic  in  hand ;  — 
To  hear  discussions  voluntary, 
Forced  from  the  speechless  and  unwary, 
On  plea  that  thus  'twas  necessary 

To  understand. 

And  oh !  the  ghosts  of  those  back  lessons, 
Required  of  us  in  lengthened  sessions, 
Which  even  now  we'll  make  confessions, 

To  his  assigns, 

Are  still  unpaid  —  and  those  demises, 
Which  seeming  mortal  'twould  surprise  us 
How  a  poor  patient  from  such  crisis 

New  vigor  finds. 

To  Commons  Hall  now  turn  we  gladly, 
For  though  the  grub  was  cook'd  so  badly, 
Yet  still  we  favorVl  King  and  Hadley, 

That  unctuous  pair, 

For  now  and  then  the  meats  they'd  bring  us 
They'd  fail  to  find  with  prying  fingers, — 
(Beneath  the  table  where  it  lingers, 

Pinn'd  hard  up  there.) 


I'.  lON'iS     A  Ml     I'M]    \!  s 


And  though  one  evil-minded  varlct, 
Without  a  twinge  or  taming  scarlet, 
On  one  occasion  from  afar  let 

Drive  at  King's  head 
A  teapot  tillM  with  Ivoiling  water, 
His  majesty  thought  it  no  matter, 
And  shaking  off  the  fluid  sought  a 

Dry  place  instead. 

And  then  how  we  did  growl  and  mutter 
At  the  stale  bread  and  hirsute  butter, — 
And  those  old  geese  that  fain  would  utter, 

If  they  had  breath 

And  parts  of  speech,  that,  without  joking, 
They  were  the  same  whose  timely  croaking 
Saved  Rome  from  sanguinary  soaking 

And  civic  death. 

O'erhaul  your  mem'ries  ye  that  have  one, 
And  say  who  haunted  Wil lard's  tavern, 
Or  dove  down  in  that  dismal  cavern, 

'Neath  Harvard  Hall, 
And  groping  round  among  the  bottle-. 
Seized  this  and  that  one  by  their  throttles, 
And  served  them  as  they  do  at  hotels 

When  boarders  call. 

In  early  term-time  too  'twas  pleasant. 
When  cash  and  appetites  were  present 
(Alas  they  both  were  evanescent), 
For  some  to  go, 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  47 


At  least  I  well  remember  I  did, 
And  several  now  within  my  eye  did, 
To  that  dim  cellar  where  presided 
P.  and  S.  Snow ; 

And  of  their  oysters  quick  partaking, 
As  suddenly  the  place  forsaking, 
Sometimes  without  due  payment  making, 

We  saunter'd  o'er 

To  Porter's,  when  flip  was  in  season, 
Assigning  as  a  valid  reason, 
The  air  was  cold,  and  it  was  freezing 

Without  the  door. 

If  I  had  Holmes's  gift  I'd  teach  ye, 
(Prithee  don't  smile  now  I  beseech  ye,) 
How  I,  with  Austin  and  with  Eitchie, 

Heaven  be  their  rest! 
Prepared  a  part  for  exhibition 
For  our  most  gifted  rhetorician, 
And  sent  it  off  upon  its  mission, 

With  special  zest. 

And  how  —  our  agency  mistrusted  — 
He  straightway  hat  and  coat  adjusted, 
And  off  to  Dr.  H's  posted, 

To  learn  from  him 
Whether  or  no  at  their  last  meeting, 
Those  old  nobs  deem'd  it  right  and  fitting, 
That  he  should  have  so  mark'd  a  greeting, 

Or  was't  a  whim 


-..\  ..>      A  M>      I'..]    M  -,     OK 


Of  WHIM'  of  those  fourth-section  asses  f 
The  old  l*rofes«>r  raised  his  glasses, 
And  said  that  when  the  different  classes 

Had  parts  assigned, 
He  was  not  present  at  the  quorum, 
But  So  and  So  presided  o'er  'em, 
And  he,  while  sipping  down  his  jorum, 

Would  bear't  in  mind ; 

So  thereupon  for  t' other's  study, 
With  intellect  a  little  muddy, 
And  visage  not  a  little  ruddy, 

He  made  a  track; 
And  finding  the  old  man  \\iiliin  it, 
Got  at  the  truth  within  a  minute, 
And  learning  there  was  nothing  in  it, 

March'd  forthwith  back. 

But  time  would  fail  me  did  I  mention 
A  tithe  of  what,  with  small  attention, 
Would  entertain  this  learned  convention 

Of  lawyers,  pric- 

And  men  renowned  in  various  callings, 
On  bench,  at  bar,  in  short  for  all  things 
That  men  bee.. me  iii  their  he  fallings, 

At  work  or  feasts. 

Then  brethren  here's  a  flowing  bumper 
To  each  survivor  of  our  number, 
And  heaven  forefend  that  any  slumber 

the  ground, 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  49 


Until  the  years'  successive  fleetings 
Shall  bring  us  many  kindred  meetings, 
Where  each  shall  hail  fraternal  greetings 

From  all  around. 

F.  w.  c. 


FIFTY    YEARS. 


[The  members  of  the  "Class  of  1829"  are  at  this  date,  with  but  two  or 
three  exceptions,  fifty  years  old.] 

Written  for  the  Class  Meeting,  Jan.  5,  1860. 

'Mid  the  tempest  and  the  strife, 

With  stern  heart  and  ready  hand, 
As  when  amid  the  conflict  dire, 

Embattled  legions  stand, 
In  a  world  where  bounding  joy 

Comes  alternately  with  tears, 
As  night  dews  follow  noontide  heat,  — 

We  have  finished  fifty  years. 

0  blissful  were  the  hours, 

When,  with  brilliant  hopes,  and  young, 
We  launched  our  barque  on  life's  bright  sea, 

And  wooed  the  Syren's  tongue; 
And  the  future,  calm  and  fair,   * 

Stood  undimmed  by  rising  fears; 
Alas,  —  our  hearts  had  yet  to  learn 

The  scenes  of  fifty  years. 


50  s"N  -iS      AN   I.      I'c.i:  Ms      (IK 


But  with  steadfast  eye  and  heart, 

Ever  up  and  onward  led, 
The  joy  of  freedom  round  us  cast, 

Its  light  above  our  head, — 
As  shouts  the  pilgrim,  from  the  height 

The  towering  mountain  rears, 
So  on  the  summit  gained,  wo  stand, — 

We  have  finished  fifty  years. 

Now  back  we  turn  to  view 

The  path  our  steps  have  trod, 
And,  yeaming,  seek  to  press  again 

"With  loving  feet  the  sod; 
And  busy  memory  to  our  souls 

The  fragrant  past  endears; 
Yet  comes  that  benison  no  more, — 

We  have  finished  f.fly  years. 

As  the  gray  old  ruin  stands, 

And  verdure  o'er  it  creeps, 
And  clings  in  every  nook  and  seam, 

And  in  silent  beauty  sleeps, 
So  round  our  manhood's  heart 

The  bloom  of  youth  appears ; 
Age  nurtures  these  sweet  trailing  flowers, 

We  have  finished  fifty  years. 

We  have  finished  fifty  years; 

But  our  friendship,  warm  and  true, 
Unchanging  marks  the  lapse  nf  time. 

Like  heaven's  immortal  blue. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  51 


The  radiant  arch  still  smiles; 

And  while  faith  the  portal  nears, 
Our  love  outrides  the  storms  of  life, 

The  gales  of  fifty  years. 

So  clasp  each  brother's  hand 

With  a  firm  heart,  and  brave, 
Strong  to  endure  each  adverse  shock, 

To  breast  each  beating  wave, 
And  light  the  crested  foam  with  joy, 

Howe'er  the  tempest  veers, 
Till  storm  and  conflict,  lulled,  repose 

Beyond  these  mortal  years. 


FIDES    CONSERVATRIX. 


S.  F.  S. 


Written  for  the  Class  Meeting,  January,  18CO. 

AIR  —  "  Drink  to  me  only." 

Come,  gather  here,  with  heartier  cheer, 

The  farther  on  we  glide, 
With  every  sere  and  ripening  year, 

Down  time's  on-sweeping  tide. 
And  if  fair  gales  our  canvass  fill, 

And  not  a  cloud  we  see, 
Let  "Auld  Lang  Sync"  be  precious  still 

To  you,  glad  friend,  and  me. 


S.-N.iS       \  N  I-      I'o  IMs     OK 


Start  wannly  here,  the  manly  tear, 

For  those  passed  on  before, 
Whose  voices  dear  no  more  we  hear, 

"Who  walk  with  us  no  more. 
What  though  the  skies  he  dark  al>ove, 

And  many  treasures  flee, 
I1  is  well  to  prize  the  ancient  love 

For  you,  sad  friend,  and  me. 

PUB  quickly  here,  all  gloomy  fear, 

For  lie  who  sets  the  how, 
Where,  wild  and  drear,  the  storms  career, 

Will  heal  the  Marah's  flow. 
Then  let  the  kindly  thoughts  that  swell 

Our  hearts,  an  earnest  be, 
That  He  will  order  all  things  well, 

For  you,  old  friends,  and  me. 

B.  P.  w. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  53 


SONG. 


Written  for  the  Class  MuBtinj,  January  5,  I860. 

AIR  —  "  Farewell,  and  whenever." 

With  hearts,  boys,  of  old,  we  still  welcome  the  hour, 
That  brings  back  the  springtime  with  youth's  rosy  dower; 
And  if  Time's  wing  has  shadowed  each  once  flashing  brow, 
His  spell  we'll  dissolve  in  bright  memories  now. 
Though  that  spell  be  renewed  with  to-morrow's  first  beam, 
That  awakens  the  heai't  from  its  fond  vanished  dream, 
Life's  gloom  it  will  soften  and  gild  its  best  cheer, 
To  remember  how  blest  we've  been,  lingering  here. 

And  thus,  all  re-kindled  our  hearts'  early  glow 

By  the  rays  that  yet  gleam  from  the  long,  long  ago; 

They  may  oft  droop  with  sorrow  but  ne'er  feel  it's  blight, 

Reviving,  like  flowers,  in  the  magic  sun-light. 

Bathing  thus  in   Youth's   fountain,  sporting   still  with  its 

wiles, 

Our  souls,  to  night,  beam  with  Hope's  warm  sunny  smiles; 
And  as  the  name  of  some  absent  one  blends  with  our  eheer, 
Each  kind  voice  shall  murmur,  "I  wish  he  were  here." 

Let  Fate  do  her  worst  to  imbitter  life's  joy, 
These  gleams  from  the  past  she  can  never  destroy, 
They'll  shed  their  bright  rays  amid  sorrow  and  care, 
Fresh  strength  they  will  give  us  to  do  and  to  dare. 


80X08    AND    POEMS    OF 


Then  still,  as  the  Karth  circling  round  with  the  year 
Brings  again  the  blest  hour  of  our  hearts'-meeting  here, 
We'll  hail  the  glad  summon*,  as  hlythe  as  of  yore, 
Till  the  last  trembling  foot-step  shall  echo  no  more! 

J.  A. 


THE    IlETROSl'KCT. 


Extract  from  «  Po.ro.  wriitrn  fur  th«  CUM  Meeting,  Jun.  5,  1900. 
***** 

We  too  have  each  our  pebble  ca>t 
On  the  foundations  of  the  past : 


While  midnight  stars  look  calmly  down, 
One  weaves  himself  an  astral  crown  ; 
Chasing  the  reeling  comet's  flight 
Through  studious  watches  of  the  night, 
Tracking  the  far-revolving  spheres 
That  circle  out  the  endless  years  — 
The  paths  empyrean  as  he  trod, 
That  radiate  from  the  thnmu  of  God. 

Another  weary  hour  beguiles, 
The  Autocrat  of  tears  and  smiles  — 
Mingling  keen  Joke  and  solemn  Truth. 
While  sober  age  and  careless  youth 


THECLASSOF'29.  55 


Maintain  a  kindly  war, 
And  laughing  Wit  sings  Wisdom's  words, 
As  sportive  Fancy  sweeps  the  chords, 
Tinkling  her  light  guitar. 

Others,  meanwhile,  in  halls  of  State 

Guided  the  reins  of  high  debate ; 

And  some,  in  sharp  forensic  fight, 

Upheld  the  laws  of  human  right; 

Or,  faithful  to  a  lofty  trust, 

Bade  ermined  Sophistry  be  just  — 

Firm  buttressing  with  weighty  thought 

The  creed  our  free-soulcd  Fathers  taught. 

Each  one  has  thought  some  thought  of  flame, 

Which,  tho'  unvoiced  by  vulgar  fame, 

Nor  graved  on  written  scroll, 

Has  thrilled  on  some  expectant  ear, 

Drawn  forth  some  sympathetic  tear  — 

Or  spoke  the  whispered  words  that  roll 

Their  echoes  o'er  the  human  soul. 

Great  things  are  those  which  History's  page 
Reads  to  the  wonder-nurtured  age, 
On  kindling  heart  and  thoughtful  brow 
They  tarry,  —  but  we  pass  them  now. 
For  not  the  conqueror's  thundering  march, 
Nor  garlands  from  fame's  laureled  arch, 
Not  beauty's  liquid  eye  of  light 
Claims  our  heart's  mastery  to-night  — 
Back  roll  the  fervid  wheels  of  time; 


M  SONUS    AND    POEMS    OF 


And  yonder  clock's  melodious  ehimo 

Counts  day  and  date  in  vain;      * 

In  spite  of  astronomic  sign 

Kinjrs  out  the  hours  of  '29, 

And  we  are  l>oys  again. 

Though  many  an  antic  he  has  played 

Since  first  from  Harvard's  walls  wo  strayed  — 

On  wrinkling  brow  and  grizzled  hair 

Setting  the  signet  mark  of  care  — 

The  spirit  mocks-  at  time. 

The  weary  troubles  of  the  past 

Con  no  obtrusive  shadow  cast 

On  the  bright  dial  of  the  heart, 

When  gladdening  sympathies  impart 

To  the  waste,  bankrupt  soul  of  age 

The  treasured  strength  of  manhood's  stage, 

The  glories  of  our  prime. 

****** 

For  what  is  life  —  but  manhood's  school 
To  feel,  to  think,  to  do  — 
And  gather  round  stern  duty's  rule, 
Each  generous  joy,  each  cheering  mood, 
In  warm  and  genial  brotherhood  — 
That  thought  of  power  and  deed  of  good, 
All  silvered  with  love's  holy  light, 
May  star  the  dusky  skirts  of  night 
From  point  to  point  with  iiM-morirs  bright, 
To  guide  our  footstep-  tl trough  — 
That  every  flowen-t's  curly  bloom 
May  shed  its  fragrance  o'er  the  tomb, 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  57 


Sweet,  pure  and  stainless  —  as,  at  first, 
Their  fresh  and  glowing  petals  burst 
To  drink  life's  morning  dew. 

And  when,  upon  the  farther  shore 

We  gather  once  again, 
To  con  life's  finished  lessons  o'er, 
The  mighty  master's  face  before  — 

Be  every  record  plain! 

And  Heaven  open  wide  her  door 
To  our  unbroken  band  once  more; 
And  every  name  immortal  shine, 
That  marked  the  roll  of  '29. 

G.  H.  D. 


CLASS    MEETING    DAY,    1860. 


Not  a  word  have  I  written  to-day, 
Not  a  word  —  though  the  class  will  meet; 

And  every  man  may  be  called  to  say 
Something  merry,  or  grave,  or  sweet. 

Thirty  years  of  our  life  have  past, 

Since  each  one  said  —  "The  curriculum's  done; 
So,  Boys,  farewell,  for  now  at  last  — 

Now  our  work  of  life  has  begun." 


58  BONOS    AND    POEMS    OF 


Thirty  years  of  our  life  have  fled, 
As  the  feathery  Cirri  are  drifted  along, 

In  the  deep  quiet  of  Heaven  o'erhead, 
By  the  great  air-current,  steady  and  strong. 

Busy  and  painful  and  anxious  years, 
Cheerful  and  glad  and  hopeful  days, 

Sunny  with  smiles,  or  dropping  in  tears, 
So  have  we  gone  on  our  many  ways. 

Some  have  steadily  mounted  up, 
Borne  by  the  force  of  a  purpose  strong, 

And  drained  to  its  bottom  the  golden  cup, 
Whose  wine  shall  still  to  the  brave  belong. 

Their  heads  shall  the  grateful  laurels  hide, 
Laurels  of  Science,  Thought,  Wit  and  Art; 

Many  may  praise  them  with  thankful  pride, 
But  we,  with  a  deeper  pride  of  the  Iwart. 

Others,  in  country,  or  cities  far, 
On  the  broad  ocean,  or  prairie  grand, 

Wage  the  ever-returning  war, 
War  of  Life's  work,  with  head  and  hand. 

Some  for  freedom,  in  life-long  fight, 
Give  their  best  days  till  the  hair  turn  gray; 

Scarcely  a  glimpse  of  morning  light 
Tinging  their  East  with  its  promise  of  day. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29. 


59 


Some  for  the  Saviour  and  Friend  of  man 

Utter  their  faithful  witness  still; 
Cheering  the  mourner,  faint  and  wan, 

With  blessed  water  of  Siloa's  rill. 

Yet  a  few  years  and  our  task  is  o'er ; 

Yet,  dear  friends,  when  we  bid  farewell 
To  the  griefs  and  joys  of  this  earthly  shore, 

Our  last  faint  words  shall  gladly  tell, 

Thankful  for  Life  and  its  gladsome  song, 

With  all  God's  gifts  —  that  these  combine 
Friendships  which  each  has  shared  so  long 

With  his  brothers  —  "  the  boys  of  '29." 

j.  F.  c. 
JANUARY  5,  1860. 


A    VOICE    OF    THE    LOYAL    NORTH. 


Written  for  the  Class  Meeting,  January  3,  1861. 

We  sing  "Our  Country's"  song  to  night 

With  saddened  voice  and  eye; 
Her  banner  droops  in  clouded  light 

Beneath  the  wintry  sky. 
We'll  pledge  her  once  in  golden  wine 

Before  her  stars  have  set; 
Though  dim  one  reddening  orb  may  shine, 

We  have  a  Country  yet. 


M  80X08    AND    POKMS    OF 


Twero  vaiu  to  sigh  oVr  errors  past, 

The  fiuilt  of  sires  or  sons ; 
Our  soldier  heard  the  threatening  blast, 

And  spiked  his  useless  guns; 
He  Mtw  the  star-wreathed  ensign  full, 

By  mad  invaders  torn; 
But  saw  it  from  the  hastioned  wall 

That  laughed  their  rage  to  scorn! 

What  though  their  angry  cry  is  flung 

Across  the  howling  wave, — 
They  smite  the  air  with  idle  tongue 

The  gathering  storm  who  brave; 
Enough  of  speech !  the  trumpet  rings ; 

Be  silent,  patient,  calm, — 
God  help  them  if  the  tempest  swings 

The  pine  against  the  palm! 

Our  toilsome  years  have  made  us  tame; 

Our  strength  has  slept  unfelt; 
The  furnace-fire  is  slow  to  flame 

That  bids  our  ploughshares  melt; 
Tis  hard  to  lose  the  bread  they  \\iii 

In  spite  of  Nature's  frowns,  — 
To  drop  the  iron  threads  \\e  spin 

That  weave  our  web  of  towns, 

To  see  the  rusting  turbines  stand 
Before  the  emptied  flumes, 

To  fold  the  anus  that  fl<><"l  the  land 
With  rivers  from  their  looms, — 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  61 


But  harder  still  for  those  who  learn 

The  truth  forgot  so  long; 
When  once  their  slumbering  passions  burn, 

The  peaceful  are  the  strong ! 

The  Lord  have  mercy  on  the  weak, 

And  calm  their  frenzied  ire, 
And  save  our  brothers  ere  they  shriek, 

"  We  played  with  Northern  fire ! " 
The  eagle  hold  his  mountain  height, — 

The  tiger  pace  his  den ! 
Give  all  their  country,  each  his  right ! 

God  keep  us  all !     Amen ! 


o.  w.  H. 


REDITU  S. 


Written  for  the  Class  Meeting,  January,  1861. 

AlE  —  "Begone,  dull  care." 

Old  Time,  a-dieu; 
A  sleepiest  watch  is  thine; 

For  here's  thy  crew, 
Returned  to  "  Twenty-Nine." 
As  nodding  thou,  with  careless  oar, 

Wast  rowing  us  down  to  sea, 
Thy  shallop,  unpiloted,  touched  the  shore, 
And  joyous  fugitives  we. 


6 


H  80N08    AND    POEMS    OF 


Again  wo  greet 
Fair,  welcoming  Harvard's  walls; 

And  quick,  glad  feet 
Awaken  her  echoing  halls. 
Now  Hope  is  young  and  the  pulse  is  strong, 

And  merrily  dawns  the  day : 
The  voyage  of  life  looks  happy  and  long, 
And  nobody's  bald  or  gray. 


To-night  recall 
Those  glorious  by -gone  years; 

Away  be  all 

Dispiriting  doubts  and  fears. 
For  those  shall  laugh,  and  these  shall  sing, 

While  never  a  care  annoys; 
And  our  bright  laureate's  lyre  shall  ring 
To  glorify  all  the  "Bors." 


Come,  lads,  who  HI  troll 
The  jovial,  good  old  song? 
And  thou,  prime  droll, 
Propel  us  that  joke  along. 
Unfledged  M.  D.s  and  parsons  roar, 

Green  counsellors  shake  their  sides, 
"  We  're  twenty,  we  're  twenty  —  who  says  we 

are  more!" 
And  twenty  old  Time  derides. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  63 


What  though  chill  dawn 
Shall  hurry  us  all  aboard, 
Be  thou,  Care,  gone, 
This  hour  we  prithee  afford. 
Then,  friends,  laugh  on,  till  the  beautiful  dream 

Shall  vanish  in  "Auld  Lang  Syne," 
And  morn  re-launch,  on  the  eddying  stream, 

The   "BOYS  OF  TWENTY-NINE." 

B.  P.  W. 


IN    MEMORY    OF    J.  D.  R. 


Read  at  the  Class  Meeting,  January  23,  1862. 

The  friends  that  are,  and  friends  that  were, 

What  shallow  waves  divide! 
I  miss  the  form  for  many  a  year 

Still  seated  at  my  side. 

I  miss  him,  yet  I  feel  him  still 

Amidst  our  faithful  band, 
As  if  not  death  itself  could  chill 

The  warmth  of  friendship's  hand. 

His  story  other  lips  may  tell, — 

For  me  the  veil  is  drawn; 
I  only  know  he  loved  me  well, 

He  loved  me  —  and  is  gone ! 

o.  w.  ii. 


64  |OK«iS      VN  I.     mi    MS     OK 


VOYAGE   OF   THE    GOOD  SHIP  UNK'N 


EMd  M  the  CUM  llMtloc.  J«tm«i7.  1M1 

T  is  iniilni-lit  :   through  my  troubled  dream 

Loiul  wails  the  tempest's  cry ; 
Before  the  gale  with  tattered  sail, 

A  ship  goes  plunging  by. 
What  name.'    Where  bound?  —  The  rocks  around 

Repeat  the  loud  halloo. 

—  The  good  ship  Union,  Southward  bound: 
God  help  her  and  her  crew! 

And  is  the  old  flag  flying  still 

That  o'er  your  fathers  flew, 
With  bands  of  white  and  rosy  light, 

And  field  of  starry  bluef 

—  Ay!  look  aloft!  its  folds  full  oft 
Have  braved  the  roaring  blast, 

And  still  shall  fly  when  from  the  sky 
This  black  typhoon  has  past  ! 

Speak,  pilot  of  the  storm-tost  hark  ! 
May  I  thy  peril  share t 

—  0  landsman,  these  an-  fearful 
The  brave  alone  may  dare ! 

—  Nay,  ruler  of  tin-  rebel  deep. 
What  matters  wind  or  wave? 

The  rocks  that  \\reek  your  reeling  deck 
Will  leave  me  nought  to  save! 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  65 


0  landsman,  art  thou  false  or  true? 
What  sign  has  thou  to  show? 

—  The  crimson  stains  from  loyal  veins 
That  hold  my  heart-blood's  flow ! 

—  Enough !  what  more  shall  honor  claim  ? 
I  know  the  sacred  sign; 

Above  thy  head  our  flag  shall  spread, 
Our  ocean  path  be  thine ! 

The  bark  sails  on;  the  Pilgrim's  Cape 

Lies  low  along  her  lee, 
Whose  headland  crooks  its  anchor-flukes 

To  lock  the  shore  and  sea. 
No  treason  here !  it  cost  too  dear 

To  win  this  barren  realm ! 
And  true  and  free  the  hands  must  be 

That  hold  the  whaler's  helm! 

Still  on !  Manhattan's  narrowing  bay 

No  Rebel  cruiser  scars; 
Her  waters  feel  no  pirate's  keel 

That  flaunts  the  falling  stars ! 

—  But  watch  the  light  on  yonder  height, — 
Ay,  pilot,  have  a  care ! 

Some  lingering  cloud  in  mist  may  shroud 
The  Capes  of  Delaware ! 

Say,  pilot,  what  this  fort  may  be, 

Whose  sentinels  look  down 
From  moated  walls  that  show  the  sea 

Their  deep  embrasures'  frown? 


G* 


SONUS    AND    POEMS    OP 


The  Relx'1  host  claims  all  the  coast, 

But  these  are  friends,  we  know, 
Whose  footprints  spoil  the  "sacred  soil," 

And  this  is  T Fort  Monroe ! 

The  breakers  roar,  —  how  ln-an*  the  shore  f 

—  The  traitorous  wreckers'  hands 
Have  quenched  the  blaze  that  poured  its  rays 

Along  the  Hattcras  sands. 
—  Ha !   say  not  so !  I  see  its  glow  ! 

Again  the  shoals  display 
The  beacon  light  that  shines  by  night, 

The  Union  Stars  by  day  ! 

The  good  ship  flies  to  milder  skies, 

The  wave  more  gently  flows, 
The  softening  breeze  wafts  o'er  the  seas 

The  breath  of  Beaufort's  rose. 
What  fold  is  this  the  sweet  winds  kiss, 

Fair-striped  and  many-starred, 
Whose  shadow  palls  these  orphaned  walls, 

The  twins  of  Beauregard  f 

What !  heard  you  not  Port  Royal's  doom  t 

How  the  black  war-ships  came 
And  turned  the  Beaufort  roses'  bloom 

To  redder  wreaths  of  flame  f 
How  from  Rebellion's  broken  reed 

We  saw  his  emblem  fall, 
As  soon  his  cursed  poisnn-wi-ed 

Shall  drop  from  Sumter's  wall  * 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  67 


On !   on !    Pulaski's  iron  hail 

Falls  harmless  on  Tybee ! 
Her  topsails  feel  the  freshening  gale. 

She  strikes  the  open  sea; 
She  rounds  the  point,  she  threads  the  keys, 

That  guard  the  Land  of  Flowers, 
And  rides  at  last  where  firm  and  fast 

Her  own  Gibraltar  towers ! 

The  good  ship  Union's  voyage  is  o'er, 

At  anchor  safe  she  swings, 
And  loud  and  clear  with  cheer  on  cheer 

Her  joyous  welcome  rings  : 
Hurrah !   Hurrah !   it  shakes  the  wave, 

It  thunders  on  the  shore, — 
One  flag,  one  land,  one  heart,  one  hand, 

One  Nation,  evermore ! 


o.  w.  ir. 


SONG. 


For  the  Meeting  of  January,  1882. 

AIR  —  "Believe  me  if  all,"  rfc. 


Here's  a  welcome  dear  friends  who  have  gathered  to-day 

From  your  pathways  of  joy  or  of  tears, 
To  look  back  to  youth's  fairy-land,  far,  far  away, 

And  re-live  in  the  long  vanished  years. 


68  80NO3    AND    POEMS    OF 


\~   .••..     more   from   ilurk   tli..m\    -Im-.   \v.-;iry   an<l   \\nrn. 

We  ascend  to  the  broad  sunny  plain, 
Lo,  the  far  distant  crests  which  we  climbed  in  the  morn 
He-appear  in  their  glory  again. 

While  the  fresh  fragrant  gales  from  those  highlands  so  blue 

On  our  throbbing  brows  gratefully  play, 
And  we  greet  you  old  comrades  warmhearted  and  true, 

All  life's  turmoil  and  strife  die  away. 

Ah,  more  bright  for  the  thought  that  we  too  have  a  share, 

Shall  your  sunlight  of  happiness  fall, 
And  less  heavy  your  burdens  of  sorrow  and  care 

As  you  feel  they  are  borne  by  us  all. 

O  let  all  that  was  selfish  or  cold  in  the  past 

Be  redeemed  by  a  kindly  regret, 
And  its  cheer  and  its  fervor  unchangingly  IHM. 

Well  remember,  ah  yes,  and 


And  when  all  this  re-union's  glad  hours  have  flown, 

To  the  next  be  their  memory  borne, 
As  where  glows  the  long  day  of  the  far  northern 

Summer  twilight.  is  merged  in  the  dawn. 

B.  P.  w. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  69 


"  CHOOSE    YOU    THIS    DAY    WHOM    YE 
WILL    SERVE." 


Read  at  the  Class  Meeting,  January  8,  1863. 

YES,  tyrants,  you  hate  us,  and  fear  while  you  hate 
The  self-ruling,  chain-breaking,  throne-shaking  State ! 
The  night-birds  dread  morning, — your  instinct  is  true, — 
The  day-star  of  Freedom  brings  midnight  for  you ! 

Why  plead  with  the  deaf  for  the  cause  of  mankind? 
The  owl  hoots  at  noon  that  the  eagle  is  blind ! 
We  ask  not  your  reasons,  —  't  were  wasting  our  time, — 
Our  life  is  a  menace,  our  welfare  a  crime ! 

We  have  battles  to  fight,  we  have  foes  to  subdue, — 
Time  waits  not  for  us,  and  we  wait  not  for  you! 
The  mower  mows  on,  though  the  adder  may  writhe 
And  the  copper-head  coil  round  the  blade  of  his  scythe ! 

"No  sides  in  this  quarrel,"  your  statesman  may  urge, 
Of  school-house  and  wages  with  slave-pen  and  scourge !  — 
No  sides  in  the  quarrel !  proclaim  it  as  well 
To  the  angels  that  fight  with  the  legions  of  hell ! 

They  kneel  in  God's  temple,  the  North  and  the  South, 
With  blood  on  each  weapon  and  prayers  in  each  mouth. 
Whose  cry  shall  be  answered?    Ye  Heavens,  attend 
The  lords  of  the  lash  as  their  voices  ascend ! 


70  80X08    .AND    POEMS    OF 


"  O  Lord,  we  are  shaped  in  the  image  of  Thee,  — 
Smite  down  the  base  millions  that  claim  to  be  free, 
And  lend  Thy  strong  arm  to  the  soft-handed  race 
Who  eat  tiot  their  bread  in  the  sweat  of  their  face ! " 

So  pleads  the  proud  planter.    What  echoes  are  then? 
The  bay  of  his  bloodhound  is  borne  on  the  breeze, 
And,  lost  in  the  shriek  of  his  victim's  despair, 
His  voice  dies  unheard.  —  Hear  the  Puritan's  prayer! 

"0  Lord,  that  didst  smother  mankind  in  Thy  flood, 
The  sun  is  as  sackcloth,  the  moon  is  as  blood, 
The  stars  fall  to  earth  as  untimely  are  cast 
The  figs  from  the  fig-tree  that  shakes  in  the  blast! 

"All  nations,  all  tribes  in  whose  nostrils  is  breath, 
Stand  gazing  at  Sin  as  she  travails  with  Death ! 
Lord,  strangle  the  monster  that  struggles  to  birth, 
Or  mock  us  no  more  with  Thy  '  Kingdom  on  Earth ! ' 

••  If  Ammon  and  Moab  must  reign  in  the  lund 
Thou  gavest  Thine  Israel,  fresh  from  Thy  hand, 
Call  Baal  and  Ashtaroth  out  of  their  graves 
To  be  the  new  gods  for  the  empire  of  slaves ! n 

Whose  God  will  ye  serve,  0  ye  rulers  of  men  ? 

Will  ye  build  you  new  shrines  in  the  slave-breeder's  den  ? 

Or  bow  with  the  children  of  light,  as  they  call 

On  the  Judge  of  the  Earth  and  the  Father  of  All  ? 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  71 


Choose  wisely,  choose  quickly,  for  time  moves  apace,— 
Each  day  is  an  age  in  the  life  of  our  race ! 
Lord,  lead  them  in  love,  ere  they  hasten  hi  fear 
From  the  fast-rising  flood  that  shall  girdle  the  sphere ! 

o.  w.  H. 


HARVARD'S     DEAD. 


Written  for  the  Class  Meeting,  January  8,  1863. 

They  fought  on  many  a  crimsoned  field, 

They  sleep  in  many  a  glen; 
They  marched  to  glory  and  to  death 

And  came  not  home  again ; 
But  Harvard  claims  them  for  her  roll  — 

Her  roll  of  honored  men. 

Some  in  the  sunny  days  of  youth, 

And  some  in  ripening  age, 
Went  forth,  with  valiant  hearts  and  hopes, 

To  breast  the  conflict's  rage; 
And  history  every  name  records 

On  her  immortal  page. 

Weep  at  the  shrines  where  once  they  knelt, 
And  where  the  heroes  sleep; 


72  -    •  N  •    -     \  \  ]•    !••    :    •  •  -    •    i 


Weep  where  the  funeral  pomp  proceeds, 

At  vacant  firesides  weep. 
When  did  thy  sickle,  mighty  death, 

So  precious  harvests  reap  f 

And  sing  a  paean  o'er  their  dust, 

A  requiem  for  the  brave; 
Sing  hymns  of  cheerful  melody 

Above  each  soldier's  grave; 
In  solemn  joy  with  festal  folds 

Let  the  old  banners  wave. 

Freedom  on  every  bloody  field 

Has  some  new  triumph  won; 
Iler  honored  wreaths  are  on  the  brow 

Of  every  favorite  son ; 
And  time  is  reckoned,  not  by  years, 

But  deeds  of  valor  done. 

While  Fame  inscribes  ten  thousand  names, 

Along  her  pillared  nave. 
Of  patriot  sons  and  sires  who  sleep 

In  glory's  star-gemmed  grave, — 
Of  all  the  list  fair  Harvard  claims 

The  bravest  of  the  brave. 

S.   F.  S. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  73 


OUR    CLASSMATE,    F.  W.  C. 


Written  for  the  Class  Meeting,  January  7,  1864. 

Fast  as  the  rolling  seasons  bring 

The  hour  of  fate  to  those  we  love, 
Each  pearl  that  leaves  the  hroken  string 

Is  set  in  Friendship's  crown  above. 
As  narrower  grows  the  earthly  chain, 

The  circle  widens  in  the  sky ; 
These  are  our  treasures  that  remain, 

But  those  are  stars  that  beam  on  high. 

We  miss  —  oh,  how  we  miss!  —  his  face, — 

With  trembling  accents  speak  his  name. 
Earth  cannot  fill  his  shadowed  place 

From  all  her  rolls  of  pride  and  fame; 
Our  song  has  lost  the  silvery  thread 

That  carolled  through  his  jocund  lips ; 
Our  laugh  is  mute,  our  smile  is  fled, 

And  all  our  sunshine  in  eclipse. 

And  what  and  whence  the  wondrous  charm 

That  kept  his  manhood  boy-like  still, — 
That  life's  hard  censors  could  disarm 

And  lead  them  captive  at  his  will? 
His  heart  was  shaped  of  rosier  clay,  — 

His  veins  were  filled  with  ruddier  fire, — 
Time  could  not  chill  him,  fortune  sway, 

Nor  toil  with  all  its  burdens  tire. 


74  BONOS    AMD    rOEMS    OF 


His  speech  burst  throbbing  from  iis  fount 

And  sot  our  colder  thoughts  aglow, 
As  the  hot  leaping  geysers  mount 

And  fulling  melt  the  Iceland  snow. 
Some  word,  ]H>irhance,  we  counted  rush, — 

Some  phrase  our  calmness  might  disclaim, 
Yet  'twas  the  sunset  lightnings  flush, 

No  angry  bolt,  but  harmless  flume. 

Man  judges  all,  God  knowcth  each : 

We  read  the  rule,  He  sees  the  law; 
How  oft  His  luughing  children  teach 

The  truths  His  prophets  never  saw! 
0  friend,  whose  wisdom  flowered  in  mirth! 

Our  hearts  are  sad,  our  eyes  ure  dim ; 
He  gave  thy  smiles  to  brighten  earth, — 

We  trust  thy  joyous  soul  to  Him ! 

Alas! — our  weakness  Heaven  forgive! 

We  murmur,  even  while  we  trust, 
"  How  long  earth's  breathing  burdens  live, 

Whose  hearts,  before  they  die,  are  dust  !  '•' 
But  thou  !  —  through  grief's  untimely  tears 

We  ask  with  half-repniaehful  sigh  — 
"Couldst  thou  not  watch  a  few  brief  years 

Till  Friendship  faltered,  'Thou  mayst  diet'" 

Who  loved  our  boyish  years  so  well  ? 

Who  knew  so  well  their  pleasant    tales. 
And  all  those  livelier  freaks  euuld  tell 

Whose  oft-told  story  never  fails  T 


THE     CLASS     OP     '29.  75 


In .  vain  we  turn  our  aching  eyes,  — 
In  vain  we  stretch  our  eager  hands, — 

Cold  in  his  wintry  shroud  he  lies 
Beneath  the  dreary  drifting  sands ! 

Ah,  speak  not  thus !  He  lies  not  there ! 

We  see  him,  hear  him  as  of  old ! 
He  comes !  he  claims  his  wonted  chair ; 

His  beaming  face  we  still  behold ! 
His  voice  rings  clear  in  all  our  songs, 

And  loud  his  mirthful  accents  rise; 
To  us  our  brother's  life  belongs, — 

Dear  boys,  a  classmate  never  dies ! 

o.  w.  H. 


IN    MEMOEIAM,    F.  W.   CROCKER. 


Written  for  the  Class  Meeting,  January,  1864. 

A  weight  is  on  the  air  —  our  lamps  bum  dim, 
Ah,  vain  to  shun  this  sorrow  dull  and  sore, 

And,  still  refusing  credence,  watch  for  him 
Who  comes  to  us  no  more. 

Ye,  honored,  prospered,  shall  recount  his  worth, 
For  your  fair  present  stills  this  aching  pain; 

Speak  ye  of  him,  whose  sunny  smile  on  earth 
Shall  never  beam  again. 


~. '•  lONGS    AND    POEMS    OF 


For  us  —  fur  gazing  from  our  darkened  ways 

Where,  dim  and  low,  our  morning's  summits  rise, 

For  whom  the  fellowship  of  other  days 
Lit  up  his  kindly  eyes, — 

Mid  drifting  mists,  the  soft  blue  haze  has  gone 
Wrapped  in  their  shroud  ;  and  silent,  wan  as  they, 

Our  long  delight,  that  genial  life,  is  borne 
To  memory's  realm  away. 

Our  boyhood's  charm,  our  manhood's  steadfast  friend, 
Frank,  manly,  true,  warmhearted  to  the  last, 

Who,  more  than  he,  so  loyally  could  blend 
Our  present  and  our  past? 

Not  ours  to  praise;  we  only  —  keenly  —  feel 
A  brother's  heart  lies  cold  beneath  its  pall, 

A  generous  love  has  passed,  that  firm  as  steel 
Linked  and  embraced  us,  all. 

Was  it  for  nought?  our  yearnings  answer  —  No, 

All  of  his  best  shall  meet  our  best  again ; 
For  He  who  kindles  each  unselfish  glow 

Inflamed  not  this  in  vain. 

B.  P.  w. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  77 


THE    LAST    CHARGE. 


Read  at  the  Class  Meeting,  January  8,  1884. 

Now,  men  of  the  North !   will  you  join  in  the  strife 
For  country,  for  freedom,  for  honor,  for  life? 
The  giant  grows  blind  in  his  fury  and  spite, — 
One  blow  on  his  forehead  will  settle  the  fight ! 

Flash  full  in  his  eyes  the  blue  lightning  of  steel, 
And  stun  him  with  cannon-bolts,  peal  upon  peal ! 
Mount,  troopers,  and  follow  your  game  to  its  lair, 
As  the  hound  tracks  the  wolf  and  the  beagle  the  hare ! 

Blow,  trumpets,  your  summons,  till  sluggards  awake ! 
Beat,  drums,  till  the  roofs  of  the  faint-hearted  shake ! 
Yet,  yet,  ere  the  signet  is  stamped  on  the  scroll, 
Their  names  may  be  traced  on  the  blood-sprinkled  roll ! 

Trust  not  the  false  herald  that  painted  your  shield: 
True  honor  to-day  must  be  sought  on  the  field ! 
Her  scutcheon  shows  white  with  a  blazon  of  red, — 
The  life-drops  of  crimson  for  liberty  shed! 

The  hour  is  at  hand,  and  the  moment  draws  nigh ! 
The  dog-star  of  treason  grows  dim  in  the  sky ! 
Shine  forth  from  the  battle-cloud,  light  of  the  morn, 
Call  back  the  bright  hour  when  the  Nation  was  born! 


SONGS    AND    POEMS    OF 


The  rivers  of  peaee  through  our  valleys  shall  run, 

As  the  glaeiers  of  tyranny  melt  in  the  sun; 

Smite,  smite  the  proud  parricide  down  from  his  throne, — 

His  sceptre  once  broken,  the  world  is  our  own! 

o.  w.  H. 


i.  i  N  i:  s. 


WillUn  f..r  the  CUM  Mi-rUng,  J.nu.ry  7,  1804. 

Still  o'er  the  mountain  gray 
Lingers  the  coming  day, 

Still  waits  the  hour,  — 
The  hour  when  man  shall  feel 
No  more  the  oppressor's  heel, 
And  God  at  last  reveal 

His  kingly  power. 

But  wake  from  troubled  dreams; 
Yonder  the  blushing  beams, 

Fringe  the  dull  sky; 
The  reddening  arch  is  Iwwed, 
Light  glimmers  through  the  cloud, 
Piercing  the  gloomy  shroud,  — 

The  shadows  fly. 


No  reef  of  sunken  rock 
Shall  strike  with  deadly 
The  ship  of  state  : 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  79 


God's  mighty  power  controls 
Each  tossing  wave  that  rolls ; 
Quicksands  are  his,  and  shoals, 
Vessel  and  freight. 

Then  boldly  meet  the  gale, 
Steady  each  rope  and  sail, 

Breast  the  fierce  wave ; 
Fear  not  the  whirlwind's  power, 
Fear  not  the  storms  that  lower; 
God  rules  the  darkest  hour, 

Mighty  to  save. 

He,  when  our  fathers  stood 
On  fields  of  strife  and  blood, 

Gave  help  and  light; 
The  rod  of  terror  broke, 
Snapped  the  oppressor's  yoke, 
New  hope  and  joy  awoke, 

Brought  day  from  night. 

He  will  the  sons  defend, 
He  will  deliverance  send, 

Our  Rock,  our  Tower; 
His  arm  supports  the  state, 
His  help  comes  never  late;  — 
Have  faith  to  work  —  and  wait 

Salvation's  hour. 


AON  US    AND    POEMS    OF 


llring  out  the  treasures  then  — 
Treasures  of  wealth  and  men —         '. 

Stand  for  the  la\v- : 
Stand  up,  a  willing  band, — 
Finn  in  your  valor  stand ; 
I'phold  with  heart  and  hand 

Jehovah's  cause. 

Then  shall  a  holy  light 
Gleam  on  the  breast  of  night, 

The  war-cloud  riven; 
Lost  not  one  star  or  line, 
In  majesty  divine 
The  galaxy  shall  shine 

Full  in  mid-heaven. 

s.  F.  s. 


OUR    OLDEST    FRIEND. 


to  -TIM  Beyi  of  •»,"  J*wury  «,  U85. 


I  give  you  the  health  of  the  oldest  friend 
That,  short  of  eternity,  earth  e;m  lend.  — 
A  friend  so  faithful  ;md  tried  and  true 
That  nothing  can  wean  him  from  me  and  you. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  81 


When  first  we  screeched  in  the  sudden  blaze 
Of  the  daylight's  blinding  and  blasting  rays, 
And  gulped  at  the  gaseous,  groggy  air, 
This  old,  old  friend  stood  waiting  there. 

And  when,  with  a  kind  of  mortal  strife, 
We  had  gasped  and  choked  into  breathing  life, 
He  watched  by  the  cradle,  day  and  night, 
And  held  our  hands  till  we  stood  upright. 

From  gristle  and  pulp  our  frames  have  grown 
To  stringy  muscle  and  solid  bone; 
While  we  were  changing,  he  altered  not; 
We  might  forget,  but  he  never  forgot. 

He  came  with  us  to  the  college  class, — 
Little  cared  he  for  the  steward's  pass ! 
All  the  rest  must  pay  their  fee, 
But  the  grim  old  dead-head  'entered  free. 

He  stayed  with  us  while  we  counted  o'er 
Four  times  each  of  the  seasons  four; 
And  with  every  season,  from  year  to  year, 
The  dear  name  Classmate  he  made  more  dear. 

He  never  leaves  us,  —  he  never  will, 
Till  our  hands  are  cold  and  our  hearts  are  still ; 
On  birthdays,  and  Christmas,  and  New- Year's  too, 
He  always  remembers  both  me  and  you. 


SONOS    AND    POEMS    OF 


Every  year  this  faithful  friend 

His  little  present  is  sure  to  send; 

Every  year,  wheresoe'er  we  be, 

He  wants  a  keepsake  from  you  and  me. 

How  he  loves  us!  he  pats  our  heads, 
And,  lo!  they  are  gleaming  with  silver  threads; 
And  he 's  always  begging  one  lock  of  hair, 
Till  our  shining  crowns  have  nothing  to  wear. 

At  length  he  will  tell  us,  one  by  one, 
"My  child,  your  labor  on  earth  is  done; 
And  now  you  must  journey  afar  to  see 
My  elder  brother,  —  Eternity !" 

And  so,  when  long,  long  years  have  passed, 
Some  dear  old  fellow  will  be  the  last, — 
Never  a  boy  alive  but  he 
Of  all  our  goodly  company ! 

When  he  lies  down,  but  not  till  then, 
Our  kind  Class-Angel  will  (Imp  the  pen 
That  writes  in  the  day-hunk  kept  above 
Our  lifelong  record  of  faith  and  love. 

So  here  's  a  health  in  homely  rhyme 

To  our  oldest    rlasMiiatr.    Father  Time! 

May  our  last  survivor  live  to  be 

As  bald  and  as  wise  and  as  tough  as  he! 

o.  w.  H. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  .83 


SHERMAN'S     IN     SAVANNAH! 


Written  for  Class  Meeting,  January,  1865. 

Like  the  tribes  of  Israel, 

Fed  ou  quails  and  manna, 
Sherman  and  his  glorious  band 
Journeyed  through  the  rebel  land, 
Fed  from  Heaven's  all-bounteous  hand, 

Marching  on  Savannah ! 

As  the  moving  pillar  shone, 

Streamed  the  starry  banner 
All  day  long  in  rosy  light, 
Flaming  glory  all  the  night, 
Till  it  swooped  in  eagle  flight 

Down  on  doomed  Savannah! 

Glory  be  to  God  on  high ! 

Shout  the  loud  Hosanua! 
Treason's  wilderness  is  past, 
Canaan's  shore  is  won  at  last, 
Peal  a  nation's  trumpet  blast, — 

Sherman's  in  Savannah ! 

Soon,  shall  Richmond's  tough  old  hide 

Find  a  tough  old  tanner! 
Soon  from  every  rebel  wall 
Shall  the  rag  of  treason  fall, 
Till  our  banner  flaps  o'er  all 

As  it  crowns  Savannah! 

O.  W.  H. 


M  SONUS    AND    POEMS    OP 


MY  ANNUAL.  — FOR    THE    "BOYS    OP 


At  Annul  llMlluf,  J.nmry  4,  I860. 

How  long  will  this  harp  which  you  once  loved  to  hear 
( 'heat  your  lips  of  a  smile  or  your  eyes  of  a  tear  ? 
How  long  stir  the  echoes  it  wakened  of  old, 
While  its  strings  were  unbroken,  untarnished  its  gold? 

Dear  friends  of  my  boyhood,  my  words  do  you  wrong ; 
The  heart,  the  heart  only,  shall  throb  in  my  song; 
It  reads  the  kind  answer  that  looks  from  your  eyes, — 
"We  will  bid  our  old  harper  play  on  till  he  dies." 

Though  Youth,  the  fair  angel  that  looked  o'er  the  strings, 
Has  lost  the  bright  glory  that  gleamed  on  his  wings, 
Though  the  freshness  of  morning  has  passed  from  \i»  tone, 
It  is  still  the  old  harp  that  was  always  your  own. 

I  claim  not  its  music,  —  each  note  it  affords 

I  strike  from  your  heart-strings,  tliat   It-no!  me  its  chords; 

I  know  you  will  listen  and  love  to  tin-  last, 

For  it  trembles  and  thrills  \vitli  the  voice  of  your  jia>i. 

Ah,  brothers!  dear  brothers!  the  harp  that   I  hold 
No  craftsman  could  string  and  no  artisan   mould; 
He  shaped  it,  H<-  strung  it,  who  fashioned  the  lyres 
That  ring  with  tin-  hymns  of  tin-  seraphim  choirs. 


THECLASSOF'29.  85 


Not  mine  are  the  visions  of  beauty  it  brings, 
Not  mine  the  faint  fragrance  around  it  that  clings; 
Those  shapes  are  the  phantoms  of  years  that  are  fled, 
Those  sweets  breathe  from  roses  your  summers  have  shed. 

Each  hour  of  the  past  lends  its  tribute  to  this, 
Till  it  blooms  like  a  bower  in  the  Garden  of  Bliss; 
The  thorn  and  the  thistle  may  grow  as  they  will, 
"Where  Friendship  unfolds  there  is  Paradise  still. 

The  bird  wanders  careless  while  summer  is  green, 
The  leaf-hidden  cradle  that  rocked  him  unseen; 
When 'Autumn's  rude  fingers  the  woods  have  undressed, 
The  boughs  may  look  bare,  but  they  show  him  his  nest. 

Too  precious  these  moments !  the  lustre  they  fling 
Is  the  light  of  our  year,  is  the  gem  of  its  ring, 
So  brimming  with  sunshine,  we  almost  forget 
The  rays  it  has  lost,  and  its  border  of  jet. 

While  round  us  the  many-hued  halo  is  shed, 
How  dear  are  the  living,  how  near  are  the  dead! 
One  circle,  scarce  broken,  these  waiting  below, 
Those  walking  the  shores  where  the  asphodels  blow! 

Not  life  shall  enlarge  it  nor  death  shall  divide, — 
No  brother  new-born  finds  his  place  at  my  side; 
No  titles  shall  freeze  us,  no  grandeurs  infest, 
His  Honor,  His  Worship,  are  boys  like  the  rest. 


80X03    AND    POEMS   OF 


Some  won  the  world's  homage,  tlieir  names  we  hold  dear,  — 
But  Friendship,  not  Fame,  is  the  countersign  here; 
Make  room  by  the  conqueror  crowned  in  the  strife 
For  the  comrade  that  limps  from  the  battle  of  life! 

What  tongue  talks  of  battle  I    Too  long  we  have  heard 

In  sorrow,  in  anguish,  that  terrible  word; 

It  reddened  the  sunshine,  it  crimsoned  the  wave, 

It  sprinkled  our  doors  with  the  blood  of  our  brave. 

Peace,  Peace  comes  at  last,  with  her  garland  of  white; 
Peace  broods  in  all  hearts  as  we  gather  to-night; 
The  blazon  of  Union  spreads  full  in  the  sun; 
We  echo  its  words, — We  are  one!    We  are  one! 

o.  w.  H. 


OUR    INDIAN    SUMMER. 


K«*d  at  the  CUv  Me«<lnf ,  January  4,  1808. 

Summer  has  gone  —  a  Queen  with  all  her  train, 
Gone  with  her  King,  the  Sun,  to  keep  Ilieir  state 
In  old  Peru,  and  by  the  silver  stream. 
Her  noble  ladies  all  have  followed  her  — 
Sweet-Pea  and  Tulip,  Aster,  Balsam,  I 'ink. 
And  all  the  garden-palaces  of  f1o\vrr>. 
Wide  borders  and  large  ovals,  stand  forlorn, 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  87 


Like  gay  saloons  deserted  and  unswept. 
The  gentle  fruits,  of  old  ancestral  line, 
The  great  Kose-family,  the  Persic  peach, 
Or  Spanish  melon,  like  a  rich  grandee, 
These,  her  high  officers  of  State,  have  left ; 
And  all  the  myriad  multitude  of  leaves, 
(As  tradesmen  in  attendance  on  the  Queen,) 
Their  living  gone,  disperse;    and  yield  the  trees 
With  moaning  branches  to  October  winds, 
(Poor  workfolk,  and  last  followers  of  the  court,) 
Busy  to  sweep  the  refuse  rubbish  up. 

But  lo !   her  Majesty  has  changed  her  mind ! 
Our  lady  Queen,  sweet  Summer,  has  returned 
To  hold  a  later  session  of  her  court, 
Less  brilliant  now,  but  tenderer  and  more  pure. 
From  the  southwestern  sky,  all  night  and  day 
The  steady  breeze  sweeps  soft  —  the  purple  air 
Is  full  of  lazy  hazy  misty  light. 
The  sunshine  kisses  every  loitering  leaf 
Which  kisses  back  again  with  crimson  lips. 
What  wonder  that  the  Indian's  lonely  soul, 
Feeling  for  God  and  immortality, 
Heard  all  his  fathers  speaking  in  this  wind, 
And  caught  some  glimpses  in  the  ominous  sky 
Of  hunting-fields  within  the  Spirit-land  ? 
For  we,  too,  hear  these  whispered  messages, 
Faint,  inarticulate  murmurs  in  the  air, 
Whose  waves  swell  softly,  softly  lapse  away, 


BONOS    AND    POEMS    OP 

Till  once  again  the  living  silence  falls 
On  purple  sky  and  sun-i>ervaded  earth. 

So  in  this  colder  Autumn  of  our  life 
Some  Indian  Summer  drops  a  sunny   hour. 
Our  hearts  go  back  to  all  their  boyish  thoughts, 
Our  faces  take  again  the  boyish  look; 
Old  faces,  hardened  in  the  chill  of  time, 
Stern  faces,  set  for  conflict  with  the  world; 
Brows,  written  full  of  records,  whose  deep  lines 
Tell  of  long  years  of  struggle,-  daring  hopes, 
High  expectation,  failure,  and  success; 
The  desperate  single-handed  strife  for  bread; 
The  disillusions  of  a  cheat ed  heart  : 
Eyes,  which  have  looked  upon  a  cold  dead  fan-. 
In  which  died  all  that  loved  us  in  this  world ; 
Ambition,  struggling  to  its  weary  goal, 
Winning  its  wreath,  and  asking  —  "Is  this  allf" 
—  But  now,  these  frosty  lines  dissolve  away; 
These  records,  bit  as  with  a  graver's  tool 
In  lapidary  letters  on  a  tomb, 
Melt  into  freedom,  friendship.  ho|>e,  and  love. 
Illumined  by  sweet  memories  of  youth. 
—-The  sun  stands  still  in  CiU-on  for  an  hour; 
And  all  the  evening  shadow  of  our  age 
*  Goes  back  upon  the  Dial,  ten  degrees. 

Love  is  the  Indian  Summer  in  our  life. 
It  brings  the  softest  sunshine  of  the  year. 
Whether  awaking,  in  a  father's  heart, 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  89 


For  babe  with  wondering  eyes  and  rosy  feet; 

Or  from  frank  pressure  of  the  friendly  hand 

Which  has  not  failed  us  during  thirty  years. 

New  love  in  age  makes  all  things  young  and  new. 

The  passionate,  wild  fancies  of  the  past 

Pale  in  the  charm  of  each  late  day  of  love 

"Which  hangs  our  age  with  blossoms  out  of  youth  — 

As  the  old  olives  on  Italian  shores, 

Gnarled,  weird,  and  withered,  every  spring  become 

As  little  children,  in  their  silvery  leaves. 

So  when  they  ask  us  —  Boys  of  '29  — 

How  we  keep  up  this  boyhood,  keep  away 

The  tooth  of  care,  and  hold  a  constant  youth  — 

Youth  of  the  mind  and  heart,  mid  growing  years  — 

Tell  them  we  have  not  drank  of  Leon's  fount; 

But  once  a  year,  at  this  our  annual  feast, 

Meet  our  Medea,  (whom  we  call  Old  Times,) 

Are  cut  in  pieces,  in  her  caldron  boiled, 

And,  all  made  over,  go  out  young  again. 

And  tell  them,  mid  gray  hair  and  wintry  years 

We  keep  an  Indian  Summer  here  of  joy, 

A  baby-summer,  pressed  to  Autumn's  heart. 

j.  F.  o. 


SONGS    AND    POEMS    OP 


A  L  L    H  E  I!  I . 


1829-1SG7. 

Written  fvr  the  Clw  M«Un«.  J.nnnry  H),  IM7. 

It  is  nut  what  we  say  or  sing, 

That  keeps  our  chann  so  long  unbroken, 
Though  every  lightest  leaf  we  bring 

May  touch  the  heart  as  friendship'*  token ; 
Not  what  we  sing  or  what  we  say 

Can  make  us  dearer  each  to  other  — 
We  love  the  singer  and  his  lay. 

But  love  as  well  the  silent  brother! 

Yet  bring  whate'er  your  garden  grows. 

Thrice  welcome  to  our  smiles  and  praises : 
Thanks  for  the  myrtle  and  the  rose, 

Thanks  for  the  marigolds  and  daisies; 
One  flower  erelong  we  all  shall  claim, 

Alas!  unloved  of  Amaryllis  — 
Nature's  last  blossom  —  need  I  name 

The  wreath  of  threeseore's  silver  lilies! 

How  many,  brothers,  meet  tonight 
Around  our  lx>y hood's  covered  embers! 

Go  read  the  treasured  names  aright 
The  old  triennial  list  remembers: 


THE     CLASS     OF     '2  9.  91 


Though  twenty  wear  the  starry  sign 
That  tells  a  life  has  broke  its  tether, 

The  fifty-eight  of  twenty -nine  — 

God  bless  THE  BOYS!  —  are  all  together! 

These  come  with  joyous  look  and  word, 

"With  friendly  grasp  and  cheerful  greeting  — 
Those  smile  unseen,  and  move  unheard, 

The  angel  guests  of  every  meeting; 
They  cast  no  shadow  in  the  flame 

That  flushes  from  the  gilded  lustre, 
But  count  us  —  we  are  still  the  same ; 

One  earthly  band,  one  heavenly  cluster! 

Love  dies  not  when  he  bows  his  head 

To  pass  beyond  the  narrow  portals  — 
The  light  these  glowing  moments  shed 

Wakes  from  their  sleep  our  lost  immortals; 
They  come  as  in  their  joyous  prime, 

Before  their  morning  days  were  numbered  — 
Death  stays  the  envious  hand  of  Time  — 

The  eyes  have  not  grown  dim  that"  slumbered! 

The  paths  that  loving  souls  have  trod 

Arch  o'er  the  dust  where  worldlings  grovel 
High  as  the  zenith  o'er  the  sod  — 

The  cross  above  the  Sexton's  shovel ! 
We  rise  beyond  the  realms  of  day ; 

They  seem  to  stoop  from  spheres  of  glory 
With  us  one  happy  hour  to  stray, 

While  youth  comes  back  in  song  and  story. 


92  -•     N  -.  •>      \  \  I-     r«l    MS     ..!•• 


Ah!  ours  is  friendship  true  &s  steel 

That  war  has  tried  in  edge  and  temper; 
It  writes  upon  its  sacred  seal 

The  priest's  ubiquc  —  omncs — semper! 
It  lends  the  sky  a  fairer  sun 

That  cheers  our  lives  with  rays  as  steady 
As  if  our  footsteps  had  begun 

To  print  the  golden  streets  already ! 

The  tangling  years  have  clenched  its  knot 

Too  fast  for  mortal  strength  to  sunder  — 
The  lightning  bolts  of  noon  are  shot  — 

No  fear  of  evening's  idle  thunder! 
Too  late !  too  late !  —  no  graceless  hand 

Shall  stretch  its  cords  in  vain  endeavor 
To  rive  the  close  encircling  band 

That  made  and  keeps  us  one  forever! 

So  when  upon  the  fated  scroll 

The  falling  stare  have  all  descended, 
And,  blotted  from  the  breathing  mil, 

Our  little  page  of  life  is  ended, 
We  ask  but  one  memorial  line 

Traced  on  thy  tablet,  Gracious  Mother: 
"  My  chUdren.    Boys  of  '29. 

In  pace.    How  they  loved  each  other ! " 

o.  w.  ii. 


THE  CLASS  OF  '29.  93 


A  RIFT  IN  THE  AFTERNOON  CLOUDS. 


Written  for  the  Class  Meeting,  January  10,  18G7. 

When,  in  our  homes,  sweet  voice  and  dainty  feet 
And  snatch  of  song  no  longer  chase  the  gloom, 

But  day  by  day  the  clock's  relentless  beat 
Wearies  our  silent  room; 

When  ask  no  more  young  bearers  of  our  name 
Our  watch  and  ward  of  sacred  trusts  to  share, 

Theirs,  u  Love's  bright  dream,"  or  lures  of  Wealth  or  Fame, 
And  ours,  unlightened  care; 

Then  seems  this  busy  scene  of  much  ado, 
An  empty  show,  of  aspect  grey  and  cold, 

And  all  its  fevered  quest  of  strange  and  new 
Worthless  beside  the  old. 

Seek  we  for  friends!     Upon  its  restless  seas 
The  crossing  barques  a  moment  back  the  sail, 

The  next,  far  parted  by  the  rising  breeze, 
Each,  lonely,  breasts  the  gale. 

Its  gnawing  greeds  that  fain  would  hide,  below 
A  proud  cold  port,  their  all  consuming  flame, 

Like  Hecla's  fires  beneath  her  wastes  of  snow, 
Leave  friendship  but  a  name. 


94  lON'is    AM>    1-.    : 


Dead  hopes  are  strewn  as  thick  as  Autumn  leaves, 
From  gloomy  skies  misfortune's  blasts  sweep  chill, 

Sharp  malice  stings  and  cunning  craft  deceives 
Till  the  poor  heart  lies  still. 

Then  —  hrief  surprise,  half  feigned — when  hangs  unfurled 
Death's  sable  pennon  at  our  silent  door, 

One  day  of  pause  —  and  all  our  little  world 
Is  eager  as  before. 


But  now,  once  more,  like  the  sweet  Air  Harp,  swelling 
Its  fitful  plaints  to  chords  almost  divine, 

The  dear  old  thoughts,  deep  in  our  bosoms  dwelling, 
Gush  forth  as  Memory  whispers  —  "TwK.VTY-XiXE." 


0  mates  who  climbed  in  boyhood's  morn 

Yon  far  horizon  range, 
For  us  so  toil  and  travail  worn, 

It  mocks  at  chance  and  change. 

When  rest  the  weary  hand  and  brain, 
Your  well-known  voices  wake, 

And  course  old  laughing  hours  again 
As  ripples  on  the  lake. 

Beneath  each  thoughtful  care-worn  face, 
•  Quick  falcon  glances  sleep; 
Below  the  grave  and  measured  ; 
The  greyhound's  bounding  leap. 


THECLASSOF'29.  95 


Through  bronze  of  time  and  scar  of  strife 

Our  eyes  can  see  the  glow 
That  shone  around  our  common  life, 

In  years,  long,  long  ago. 

Your  fame,  your  cheer,  your  anguished  breast, 

Each  brother  counts  his  own, 
None  of  our  dead  forgotten  rest, 

None,  living,  hide  unknown. 

Forgotten?    Spring  anew  may  deck 

The  sapling  tempest-marred; 
The  Oak,  whose  limb  the  whirlwinds  wreck, 

Kemains  forever  scarred. 

Though  thinned  its  leafy  coronet,   - 

And  youth  and  grace  depart, 
The  stalwart  branches  firmly  yet 

Cling  round  the  changeless  heart. 

Who  then  will  kindly  word  or  deed 

From  one  of  these  withhold, 
In  whose  glad  greeting  eyes  we  read 

The  fellowship  of  old? 

B.  P.  W. 


v,,\  ,.S      V  MI     I'MCMS    Ol 


ONCE     MORE. 


Written  tat  ih«  flu*  llwtlnr,  January,  1888. 

C»ndi*cipuU*,  Cutetnnttt,  Ifirvanlining,  Amicin. 

"  IK///  /  comef"    That  w  pleasant!    I  bog  to  inquire 
If  the  gun  that  I  carry  has  ever  missed  fire? 
Ami  which  was  the  muster-roll  —  mention  but  one  — 
That  missed  your  old  comrade  who  carries  the  gun  T 

You  see  me  as  always,  my  hand  on  the  lock, 
The  cap  on  the  nipple,  the  hammer  full  cock. 
It  is  rusty,  some  tell  me;   I  heed  not  the  scoff; 
It  is  battered  and  bruised,  but  it  always  goes  off! 

-"Is  it  loaded?"    Ill  bet  you!    What  does  n't  it  hold  T 
Rammed  full  to  the  muzzle  with  memories  untold; 
Why,  it  scares  me  to  fire,  lest  the  pieces  should  fly 
Like  the  cannons  that  burst  on  the  Fourth  of  July ! 

One  charge  is  a  remnant  of  College-day  dreams 
(Its  wadding  is  made  of  forcnsics  and  themes) ; 
Ah,  visions  of  fame!    what  a  flash  in  the  pan 
As  the  trigger  was  pulled  by  each  clever  young  man ! 

And  love!    Bless  my  stare,  what  a  cartridge  is  there! 
With  a  wadding  of  rose-leaves  and  ribbons  and  hair, — 


THECLASSOF'29.  97 


All  crammed  in  one  verse  to  go  off  at  a  shot ! 
—  "Were  there  ever   such   sweethearts?      Of  course   there 
were  not! 

And  next,  —  what  a  load!    it  will  split  the  old  gun, — 
Three  fingers,  —  four  fingers, — five  fingers  of  fun! 
Come  tell  me,  gray  sages,  for  mischief  and  noise 
Was  there  ever  a  lot  like  us  fellows,  The  Boys? 

Bump !  bump !  down  the  staircase  the  cannon  ball  goes,  — 
Aha,  Old  Professor!    Look  out  for  your  toes! 
Don't  think,  my  poor  Tutor,  to  sleep  in  your  bed, — 
Two  "Boys" — 'twenty-niners  —  room  over  your  head! 

Remember  the  nights  when  the  tar-barrel  blazed! 
From  red  "Massachusetts"  the  war-cry  was  raised; 
And  "  Hollis  "  and  "  Stoughton  "  reechoed  the  call ; 
Till  P poked  his  head  out  of  Hoi  worthy  Hall! 

Old  P ,  as  we  called  him,  —  at  fifty  or  so, — 

Not  exactly  a  bud,  but  not  quite  in  full  blow; 
In  ripening  manhood,  suppose  we  should  say, 
Just  nearing  his  prime,  as  we  boys  are  to-day ! 

0,  say,  can  you  look  through  the  vista  of  age 
To  the  time  when  old  Morse  drove  the  regular  stage? 
When  Lyon  told  tales  of  the  long-vanished  years, 
And  Lenox  crept  round  with  the  rings  in  his  ears? 


SONUS    AMD    POEMS    OF 


Anil  dost  thou,  my  brother,  remember  indeed 
The  days  of  our  dealings  with  Willard  and  Read? 
.When  "Dolly"  was  kicking  and  running  away, 
And  punch  came  up  smoking  on  Fillebrown's  tray? 

But  where  are  the  Tutors,  my  brother,  0  tell!  — 
And  where  the  Professors,  remembered  so  well? 
The  sturdy  old  Grecian  of  Hoi  worthy  Hull, 
And  Latin,  and  Jx>gic,  and  Hebrew  and  all? 

" — They  are  dead,  the  old  fellows"  (we  called  them  so  then, 
Though  we  since  have  found  out  they  were  lusty  young 
men.) 

—  They  are  dead,  do  you  tell  me? — but  how  do  you  know? 
You've  filled  once  too  often.     I  doubt  if  it's  so. 

I'm  thinking.     I'm  thinking.     Is  this  'sixty-eight? 
It's  not  quite  so  clear.     It  admits  of  debate. 
I  may  have  been  dreaming.     I  rather  incline 
To  think  —  yes,  I'm  certain  —  it  is  'twenty-nine! 

"By  George!"  —  as  friend  Sales  is  accustomed  to  cry, — 
You  tell  me  they're  dead,  but  I  know  it's  a  lie! 

Is  Jackson  not  President? What  was't  you  said?  . 

It  can't  be ;  you  're  joking ;  what,  —  all  of  'em  dead  ? 

Jim, — Harry, — Fred, — Isaac, — all  gone  from  our  side? — 
They  couldn't  have  left  us,  —  no,  not  if  they  tried. 

—  Look,  —  there's  our  old  Prases.  —  he  can't  find  his  text; 
— See, — P rubs  his  leg,  as  he  growls  out,  "  Tin  ><>  •  / .' " 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  99 


I  told  you  't  was  nonsense.    Joe,  give  us  a  song ! 
Go  harness  up  "  Dolly/'  and  fetch  her  along !  — 
Dead !    Dead !    You  false  graybeard,  I  swear  they  are  not  i 
Hurrah  for  Old  Hickory ! 0,  I  forgot ! 

Well,  one  we  have  with  us  (how  could  he  contrive 
To  deal  with  us  youngsters  and  still  to  survive?) 
Who  wore  for  our  guidance  authority's  robe,  — 
No  wonder  he  took  to  the  study  of  Job ! 

—  And  now  as  my  load  was  uncommonly  large, 
Let  me  taper  it  off  with  a  classical  charge; 
When  that  has  gone  off,  I  shall  drop  my  old  gun  — 
And  then  stand  at  ease,  for  my  service  is  done. 

B'ibamws  ad  Clapsem  vocatam  "  The  Boys " 
Et  eorum  Tutorem  cui  nomen  est  "  Noyes  ;  " 
Et  floreantj  valcant,  vigeant  tarn, 
Non  Peircius  ipse  enwmeret  quam  ! 

O.  W.  H. 


100  lONtiS      V  Ml     l'(.]    MS 


SIBYLLINE     LEAVES. 


Writlra  for  Ih.  CUM  Mrrilnr.  January,  1808. 

"  Will  you  buy  my  leaves,  O  monarch, 

They  teem  with  wondrous  lore 
Of  things  ordained  to  happen, 

Casting  their  shades  before; 
The  precious  truths  are  written 

In  volumes  three  times  three; 
Come,  monarch,  pay  the  sesterces 

And  take  the  books  from  me." 

"Away,  I  scorn  thee,  Sibyl," 

The  haughty  Tarquin  cried, 
"Thou  hast  no  power  to  open 

"What  God  has  sworn  to  hide;" 
The  Sibyl  took  her  volumes 

And  proudly  stalked  away; 
"Three  shall  be  burned,"  she  muttered, 

"Six  shall  bring  equal  pay." 

The  curling  flames  flashed  brightly, 

Three  volumes  ceased  to  be; 
"Now  six,  0  haughty  Tanjiiin, 

Await  thy  high  decree; 
Thm-  precious  tonics  have  perished, 

That  told  Rome's  coming  fate, 
Say,  wilt  tlion  take  tin-  six  I  hold, 

And  save  the  glorious  State?" 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  101 


Again  refused  the  monarch, — 

Three  volumes  burned  again, 
Like  diy  leaves  in  the  forest, 

Where  comes  nor  dew  nor  rain. 
And  stood  again  the  Sibyl 

Before  proud  Tarquiu's  door; 
"Three  volumes  now  I  offer  thee, — 

Their  worth,  —  nor  less,  nor  more." 

And  Rome's  great  king  relented, — 

"'Tis  much,  0  hag,  to  pay, 
But  sesterces  whate'er  you  wish, 

Sibyl,  are  yours  to-day  ; 
These  honored  leaves  shall  rule  the  State, 

Saved  by  their  words  prophetic, 
From  Thule  ultima,  remote, 

To  empires  trans-Gangetic." 

The  barque  we  launched  in  years  long  past 

On  the  world's  stormy  sea, 
Sailed  with  no  Sibyl  leaves  to  tell 

How  strange  its  fates  should  be. 
But  deeds  are  better  far  than  words, — 

Acts,  than  prophetic  pen; 
Prouder,  than  hopes  of  things  to  be, 

Are  high  deeds  that  have  been. 

No  Sibyl  in  mysterious  lore 

Things  secret  e'er  reveals, 
And  only  life  with  solemn  pomp 

The  book  of  fate  unseals ; 


••: 


.:> 

1"-.'  v.,N  ,;S      V  M>     1'c.i:  Ms     oK 


Thou  saidst,  O  Sibyl,  volumes  throe, 

Filled  with  thy  lore  divine, 
Were  worth  as  many  sesterces 

As-  were  the  volumes  nine. 

But  one  grand  life,  whose  noble  deeds 

File  by,  like  men  to  battle, — 
Borne  strongly  to  its  glorious  end, 

Amid  the  world's  vain  rattle, 
Is  worth  a  thousand  promises 

Dreamed  by  a  brain  ascetic, — 
Our  glory  is  in  aeta,  —  not  words, — 

Deeds  done, — not  deeds  prophetic. 

s.  F.  s. 


THE     CLASS     OF     '29.  103 


SONG. 


Written  for  the  Class  Meeting,  January  9,  1868. 

AIR  —  "Tramp,  Tramp,  Tramp,  the  boys  are  marching." 

As  another  circling  year 

Brings  the  "Boys"  together  here 
To  forget  awhile  their  sorrow,  toil,  and  pain, 

While  the  brothers  of  our  band 

Grasp  their  fellows'  ready  hand, 
All  the  dear  old  days  come  laughing  back  again. 

CHORUS. 

Eoll,  roll,  roll  along  ye  swift  years, 

Thou,  care,  deepen  every  line, 

Ye  shall  leave  us  holding  fast 
All  the  memories  of  the  past, 

Which  unite  us  yet,  "  the  Boys  of  'Twenty-Nine." 

What  though  some  confess  the  gout, 

Some  are  bald  or  jolly  stout, 
And  with  specs  we  con  the  yearly  bill  of  fare ; 

When  each  welcome  voice  we  hear, 

Wigs  and  wrinkles  disappear, 
And  Old  Time  himself  shouts  cheerly  —  "As  you  were ! " 

CHORUS.  —  Roll,  roll,  &c. 

Though  long-cherished  hopes  be  dead, 
Fortunes  crossed  and  pleasures  fled, 
And  our  silent  homes  hear  never  laugh  and  song; 


104  SONGS  AMD  POEMS  OF  THE  CLAM  OF  *». 


Should  young  stupids  call  us  old, 
And  tlu»  world  IK?  growing  cold, 
You  won't  fail  us,  brother*,  proven  well  and  long. 
CHORUS.  —  Roll,  roll,  &c. 

With  th'  unceasing  cycles'  flight 

Into  crystals  clear  and  bright 
Kindred  elements  in  nascent  slate  combine; 

So  have  formed  the  sparkling"  gems 

Which  adorn  the  diadems 

On  the  brows  of  all  "  the  Boys  of  Twenty-Nine." 
CHOBUS.  —  Roll,  roll,  &c. 

And  if  kindly  word  and  deed 

For  a  stricken  brother's  need 
Shall  revive  his  hope  and  cheer  his  weary  way, 

Then  those  jewels  borne  above 

To  the  realms  of  perfect  love 
Will  reflect  the  light  of  everlasting  day. 

CHORUS.  —  Roll,  roll,  &c. 

Let  us  gladly  then  renew 

All  of  boyhood  warm  and  true 
When  we  anchor  in  these  eddies  of  the  stream : 

For  our  hearts  contract  no  rust 

Though  we're  hastening  "dust  to  dust," 
And  the  present  shifts  and  passes  like  a  dream. 

CHORUS.  —  Roll,  roll,  &c. 

B.  P.  w. 


APPENDIX. 


AN     ODE. 


My  country  !   't  is  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty,  — 

Of  thee  I  sing; 
Land  where  my  fathers  died, 
Land  of  the  Pilgrims'  pride,  — 
From  every  mountain  side 

Let  freedom  ring. 

My  native  country!   thee, 
Land  of  the  noble,  free, 

Thy  name  I  love; 
I  love  thy  rocks  and  rills, 
Thy  woods  and  templed  hills, 
My  heart  with  rapture  thrills 

Like  that  above. 


APPENDIX. 

Let  music  swell  the  breeze, 
And  ring  from  all  the  trees 

Sweet  freedom's  song ; 
Let  mortal  tongues  awake, 
l.i -I  all  that  breatlies  partake, 
I.H  rocks  ilicir  silence  break, 

The  sound  prolong. 

Our  fathers'  GOD!  to  Thee, 
Author  of  Liberty, 

To  Thee  we  sing; 
Long  may  our  land  l>e  bright 
With  freedom's  holy  light, 
Protect  us  by  thy  might, 

Great  God!  our  King. 

1C  I  S.  F.  8. 


APPENDIX.  109 


WILLIAM    WATSON     STURGIS. 


Extract  from  J.  F.  CLARKE'S  Phi  Beta  Kappa  poem,  August  27,  1S46. 

W.  W.  S.  died  in  the  summer  vacation  of  our  sophomore  year,  August  3, 1827. 

Nor  think  the  Poet's  highest  task,  in  our  more  earnest  age, 
To  entertain,  with  silky  strain,  or  fill  an  Album's  page; 
For,  as  the  flower  precedes  the  fruit,  the  fruit  attends  the 

seed, 
So  Poetry,  the  flower  of  life,  consorts  with  Thought  and 

Deed. 

The  Poet  is  a  Warrior,  doing  battle  for  his  kind  — 
The  Poet  is  a  Hero,  with  spirit  unconfined; 
A   lyric  fount  shall   burst  from   earth  and  foam  out  free 

and  far, 

When  great  Ideas  arm  themselves  for  spiritual  war. 
With  noble  form  and  gleaming  eye,  I  see  the  heroic  child, 
With  no  low  thought  polluted,  with  spirit  undefiled, 
As    an    angel    pure,    but   passionate  —  a    mountain-torrent 

bold, 
Whose  leap  is  like  a  flashing  flame,  whose  touch  is  icy 

cold. 
Him,    our    whole    land    shall    nourish,  —  him,    shall    all 

Nature  teach; 
The  melodies  of   woods  and  winds  shall   harmonize  his 

speech ; 


10 


110  APPENDIX. 


The  lofty  forest's  light*  and  shades,  and  multitude  of  hues, 

Into  his  face  a  sylvan  grace  shall  quietly  infuse. 

Thoughts  deep  and  calm  the  caves  shall  lend,  where, 
winding  dark  below, 

Through  many  a  labyrinthine  mile  mysteriously  they  go. 

There  ancient  Silence,  undisturbed,  holds  her  eternal 
reign  — 

Unheard,  the  thunders  roll  above,  unheard,  the  hurricane. 

The  grassy  prairie  rolling  wide,  a  boundless  flowery  sea, 

Swept  by  unfettered  breezes,  shall  make  his  soul  more 
free. 

And  where  the  solemn  mountains  breathe  the  chilly  morn- 
ing air, 

And  wreaths  of  climbing  vapors  around  their  shoulders 
wear, 

Far  looking  toward  the  breaking  Day,  bathed  in  its  earliest 
beam, 

While  misty  Night  still  sleeps  below,  on  valley,  wood, 
and  stream, 

His  soul  shall  tower  toward  God  and  Truth,  and  catch 
the  first  bright  ray 

Which  o'er  the  sleeping  Nations  comes,  to  wake  a  nobler 
day. 

Or,  where  the  Ocean  rushes  up,  and  breaks  in  shattering 
shock, 

Deep  covering  with  tumultuous  waves  the  lone  outstand- 
ing rock, — 

Then,  baffled  by  the  un\  it-Ming  foe,  falls  off  and  rolls 
away, 


APPENDIX.  Ill 


Along  the  shore,  with  sullen  roar,  defeated  of  its  prey  — 
The  plainly-speaking  emblem  shall  teach  him  to  oppose 
The  firm,  calm  front  of  reason,  to  the  passion  of  his  foes. 
Thus  armed,  and  thus  accomplished,  in  him  shall  be  com- 
bined 
All  energies  of  thought  and  heart,  all  grace  of  form  and 

mind. 
Then,  free   from   selfishness   and   fear,  and   ready  for   the 

strife, 

He  on  the  battle-ground  of  Truth  shall  dedicate  his  life  ' 
To    a    conflict   nobler   far   than    that  where   through   the 

smoke  was  seen 
The  squadron's  charge,  while  iron  Death  poured  down  the 

Palm  Kavine. 

Far  worthier  shall  this  battle  be,  more  terrible  the  blows, 
When  thoughts  deep-rooted  in  the  mind  contend  as  deadly 

foes. 

Then  fall  the  ancient  Dogmas,  and  Lies  long  sanctified, 
And  Frauds,  which,   throned   as   customs,  have   God   and 

man  defied. — 
Such  heroes  we  may  hope  to  see,  when  from  our  people's 

veins 
The   brute   and   savage   instincts   pass,  and   but  the  man 

remains. 

ONE  such  there  was  —  and,  0,  if  love  or  tears  had  power 

to  save, 

He  had  not  gone  in  all  his  bloom  into  that  early  grave. 
The  beauty  of  a  spotless  life,  an  unstained  purity, 


I       112  APPENDIX. 


out  from  that  transparent  brow,  from  that  unclouded 

eye. 

The  modest  energies  of  soul,  the  free  and  manly  grace 
Which  shone  like  summer  sunlight  from  that  sweet  earnest 

face, 

Still  live  within  all  memories,  as  when  we  saw  him  last, 
And  gray-haired  men  yet  mourn  the  boy,  though  twenty 

years  have  passed. 
O,  classmates!   had  our  STURGIS  lived,  there  had  been 

little  need 
Of  painting  thus  in  empty  words  what  he  had  shown  by 

deed. 
And,  O,  my  friends!  forgive  the  fault,  if  I  have  lingered 

long, 
To  twine  around  that  much-loved  name  the  wreaths  of 

this  rude  Song. 


APPENDIX.  113 


AN    EXTRACT. 


So  you  will  not  think  I  mean  to  speak  lightly  of  old 
friendships,  because  we  cannot  help  instituting  comparisons 
between  our  present  and  former  selves  by  the  aid  of  those 
who  were  what  we  were,  but  are  not  what  we  are. 
Nothing  strikes  one  more,  in  the  race  of  life,  than  to  see 
how  many  give  out  in  the  first  half  of  the  course.  "  Com- 
mencement day "  always  reminds  me  of  the  start  for  the 
"Derby,"  when  the  beautiful  high-bred  three  year  olds  of 
the  season  are  brought  up  for  trial.  That  day  is  the 
start,  and  life  is  the  race.  Here  we  are  at  Cambridge,  and 
a  class  is  just  "graduating."  Poor  Harry!  he  was  to 
have  been  there  too,  but  he  has  paid  forfeit ;  step  out 
here  into  the  grass  back  of  the  church  ;  ah !  there  it  is  :  — 

"HtTXC    LA.PIDE3I    POSUERCNT 
SOCII    MCEREXTES." 

But  this  is  the  start,  and  here  they  are,  —  coats  bright  as 
silk,  and  manes  as  smooth  as  eau  lustmle  can  make  them. 
Some  of  the  best  of  the  colts  are  pranced  round,  a  few 
minutes  each,  to  show  their  paces.  What  is  that  old 
gentleman  crying  about?  and  the  old  lady  by  him,  and 
the  three  girls,  what  are  they  all  covering  their  eyes  for? 
Oh,  that  is  their  colt  which  has  just  been  trotted  up  on 
the  stage.  Do  they  really  think  those  little  thin  legs  can 
do  anything  in  such  a  slashing  sweepstakes  as  is  coming 


114  APPENDIX. 


off  in  these  next  forty  years?  Oh,  this  terrible  gift  of 
•eoond-sight  that  comes  to  some  of  us  when  we  begin  to 
look  through  the  silvered  rings  of  the  arcus  scnilis ! 

Ten  yean  gum.  First  turn  in  the  race.  A  few  broken 
down ;  two  or  three  bolted.  Several  show  in  advance  of 
the  ruck.  Cassock,  a  black  colt,  seems  to  be  ahead  of 
the  rest;  those  black  colts  commonly  get  the  start,  I 
have  noticed,  of  the  others,  in  the  first  quarter.  Meteor 
has  pulled  up. 

Ttcenty  years.  Second  corner  turned.  Cassock  has 
dropped  from  the  front,  and  Judejr,  an  iron-gray,  has  the 
lead.  But  look!  how  they  have  thinned  out!  Down 
flat,  —  five,  —  six,  —  how  many?  They  lie  still  enough! 
they  will  not  get  up  again  in  this  race,  be  very  sure ! 
And  the  rest  of  them,  what  a  "tailing  off!"  Anybody 
can  see  who  is  going  to  win,  —  perhaps. 

Thirty  years.  Third  corner  turned.  Dives,  bright 
sorrel,  ridden  by  the  fellow  in  a  yellow  jacket,  begins  to 
make  play  fast;  is  getting  to  be  the  favorite  \\ith  many. 
But  who  is  that  other  one  that  has  been  lengthening  his 
stride  from  the  first,  and  now  shows  close  up  to  the 
front?  Don't  you  remember  the  »|iiiet  brown  colt  A*f>  /••»'/. 
with  the  star  in  his  forehead?  That  is  he;  he  is  one  of 
the  sort  that  lasts ;  look  out  for  him !  The  black  "  colt," 
as  we  used  to  call  him,  is  in  the  background,  taking  it 
easily  in  a  gentle  trot.  There  is  one  they  used  to  call 
the  Filly,  on  account  of  a  certain  feminine  air  he  had ; 
well  up,  you  see;  the  Filly  is  not  to  be  despised,  my 
boy! 


APPENDIX. 


115 


Forty  years.  More  dropping  off,  —  but  places  much  as 
before. 

Fifty  years.  Kace  over.  All  that  are  on  the  course 
are  coming  in  at  a  walk;  no  more  running.  Who  is 
ahead!  Ahead?  What!  and  the  winning-post  a  slab  of 
white  or  gray  stone  standing  out  from  that  turf  where 
there  is  no  more  jockeying  or  straining  for  victory  !  Well 
the  world  marks  their  places  in  its  betting-book;  but  be 
sure  that  these  matter  very  little,  if  they  have  run  as 
well  as  they  knew  how! 

—  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table:  pp.  107-109. 


116  APPENDIX. 


AN    EXTRACT. 


The  Professor  has  lieen  to  see  me.  Came  in,  glorious, 
at  about  twelve  o'clock,  last  night.  Said  he  liad  been 
with  "the  boys."  On  inquiry,  found  that  "the  boys" 
were  certain  buldish  and  grayish  old  gentlemen  that  one 
sees  or  hears  of  in  various  important  stations  of  society. 
The  Professor  is  one  of  the  same  set,  but  he  always  talks 
as  if  he  had  been  out  of  college  about  ten  years,  whereas 

[Each   of  these   dots   was   a 

little  nod,  which  the  company  understood,  as  tlu>  reader 
will,  no  doubt.]  He  calls  them  sometimes  "the  boys,"  ami 
sometimes  "  the  old  fellows."  Call  him  by  the  latter  title, 
and  see  how  he  likes  it.  —  Well,  he  came  in  last  nijrlit, 
glorious,  as  I  was  saying.  Of  course  I  don't  mean  vi- 
nously  exalted  :  he  drinks  little  wine  on  such  occasions, 
and  is  well  known  to  all  the  Peters  and  Patricks  as  the 
gentleman  who  always  has  indefinite  quantities  uf  Mack 
tea  to  kill  any  extra  glass  of  red  claret  he  may  have 
swallowed.  But  the  Professor  says  lie  always  -MS  tipsy 
on  old  memories  at  these  gatherings.  Hi-  was.  I  forget 
how  many  years  old  when  he  went  to  the  meeting;  just 
turned  of  twenty  now,  —  he  said.  He  made  various 
youthful  proposals  to  me,  including  a  duct  under  the 
landlady's  daughter's  window.  He  had  just  learned  a  trick, 
he  said,  of  one  of  "the  boys,"  of  getting  a  splendid  bass 
out  of  a  door-panel  by  rubbing  it  with  the  palm  of  bin 
hand.  Offered  to  sing  "The  sky  is  bright,"  accompany- 


APPENDIX.  117 


ing  himself  on  the  front-door,  if  I  would  go  down  and 
help  in  the  chorus.  Said  there  never  was  such  a 
set  of  fellows  as  the  old  boys  of  the  set  he  has  been 
with.  Judges,  mayors,  Congress-men,  Mr.  Speakers, 
leaders  in  science,  clergymen  better  than  famous,  and 
famous  too,  poets  by  the  half-dozen,  singers  with  voices 
like  angels,  financiers,  wits,  three  of  the  best  laughers  in 
the  Commonwealth,  engineers,  agriculturists,  —  all  forms 
of  talent  and  knowledge  he  pretended  were  represented  in 
that  meeting.  Then  he  began  to  quote  Byron  about 
Santa  Croce,  and  maintained  that  he  could  "  furnish  out 
creation"  in  all  its  details  from  that  set  of  his.  He 
would  like  to  have  the  whole  boodle  of  them,  (I  remon- 
strated against  this  word,  but  the  Professor  said  it  was  a 
diabolish  good  word,  and  he  would  have  no  other,)  with 
their  wives  and  children,  shipwrecked  on  a  remote  Island, 
just  to  see  how  splendidly  they  would  reorganize  society. 
They  could  build  a  city,  —  they  have  done  it;  make  con- 
stitutions and  laws;  establish  churches  and  lyceums; 
teach  and  practice  the  healing  art;  instruct  in  every 
department;  found  observatories;  create  commerce  and 
manufactures;  write  songs  and  hymns,  and  sing  'em,  and 
make  instruments  to  accompany  the  songs  with ;  lastly, 
publish  a  journal  almost  as  good  as  the  "  Northern  Maga- 
zine," edited  by  the  Come-outers.  There  was  nothing 
they  were  not  up  to,  from  a  christening  to  a  hanging; 
the  last,  to  be  sure,  could  never  be  called  for,  unless 
some  stranger  got  in  among  them. 

—  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table :  pp.  137-139. 


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